


Waiting Game

by ashelt



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Blood and Gore, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashelt/pseuds/ashelt
Summary: If he was going to make it out of this alive, he had to find a way to stop blushing every time she looked at him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

When first he saw her, hell was raining down on Haven.

She looked less like a woman than an overcooked nug chop, covered in ash, her leathers still smoking at the seams. Her left hand glowed sickly green, and her eyes were rolled back in her head, the whites shot through with crimson veins. Every now and then, her body jerked, and the green would spark, damaging nothing but giving Adan a fright.

“As I have repeatedly told all of you, the girl is not a mage,” said the nearby elven apostate pointedly. “Try for yourself to have any effect on the mark.”

Cullen inhaled and attempted to Silence the smoldering mess before him, but found nothing to target. 

_ It’s barely been a month… _

Just to ensure he could still do it, he concentrated and released an area blast, making the apostate raise an eyebrow.

“He’s right, Adan. You don’t need a templar in here.”

“I suspect the only way she could harm you is if she were to wake up and slap you,” muttered the mage, evidently annoyed.

“Thank you for your help, messere…”

“Solas.”

“Thank you, Solas,” resumed Cullen, a headache playing at his temples. “Do you have any idea when the prisoner might awaken?”

“I would be surprised if she were to wake at all. Whatever this is, it’s killing her, and quickly. I will try what I can to slow it and revive her, but I’ve never seen anything of its like before. I would suggest you instruct this---” he cast a disdainful look at Adan “---_ man _ to heal her once I’ve finished. I have other matters to attend.”

“As you say,” sighed Cullen, ducking out of the tent and leaving the pair to squabble. He definitely had a headache now.

\-----------

She woke to the sound of her own scream.

Her left hand felt as though nails were being driven through it in waves. She tried to bring it to her face for a closer look, only to find her hands were bound with iron manacles. She sat up, just catching the tail of someone’s robe exit the cell, slamming the door behind them. Feeling another drag run through her palm, she let out a hoarse yowl, sweat pouring down her face. Awkwardly, she twisted around, trying to get a look without aggravating it.

It was split apart down the center with a bright green glow.

_ All right, _ she thought, jaw clenched hard enough to lock. _ Whatever happened, I definitely hit my head. _

She gasped as sparks flew off of the wound, accompanying another stream of unbearable pain. She could just see movement past her brimming eyes, and resolved herself to find answers.

“What is the meaning of---” she began, before being hurled out of the cell and onto the floor. Her vision went double, and she shook her head, looking up to find five swords pointed in her face.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” bit a cold voice.

“Kill me? What have you done to me?” she groaned, wracked with another wave.

“You’ve done this to yourself,” the voice growled, and a tall woman with dark hair stepped in front of the circle of swords, roughly pushing her to the ground.

“Easy, Cassandra,” murmured another, musical, voice. “We may need her yet.”

Cassandra scoffed, disgust barely visible on her face by the dim torch light.

“Do you know what happened?” said the other woman, waving away the armed men and crouching next to her.

The prisoner closed her eyes, trying to clear her fuzzy head.

“I heard voices, and then I was falling…” she swallowed, brow crinkling. “There was a woman.”

“A woman?” repeated Leliana, voice difficult to read.

“It’s all fragmented,” the prisoner managed, frustration and pain in her voice.

“Well, Lady Trevelyan,” Leliana mused, pulling her up by the shoulders, “this does not bode well for you”.

  
  


As Cassandra marched her outside, Trevelyan had to shield her eyes, wincing. The sky was lit up with a gash that glowed so brightly it hurt to behold. It started moving, pulsing, and she fell to her knees, vomiting in the snow.

“Keep it together,” barked Cassandra, brushing back the snarl of Trevelyan’s hair.

“How can you think I did this to myself?” she asked, wiping her mouth with her bound wrists.

“Perhaps you didn’t. But perhaps you did, and something went wrong,” the taller woman scolded. “For now, you can at least atone before you die.” She brought Trevelyan up to stand with her, unlocking the manacles and letting them fall to the ground with a dull clank..

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Trevelyan sighed, flexing her changed hand.

“Then…?”

“I never said I didn’t want to help---you just assumed.”

The Nevarran frowned, suspicion coloring her gaze.

“Let’s get moving, then.”

\-------

The second time he saw her, she looked a decent amount more human, but just as unconscious.

“She managed to affect the Breach?” he asked Cassandra, who was staring at Trevelyan with a glare on her face.

“She didn’t close it, but she stopped it growing. She did not hesitate to try, even though I said it would likely kill her. I’m beginning to doubt her role in this.”

“There’s nothing in her background that suggests much of anything, really,” cut in Leliana. “A Marcher, raised Andrastian, the first of four children. Not a mage and certainly not a templar, and not related to either.”

They watched as Solas rose from the side of the cot and walked to their position.

“The mark is stable now. She may very well pull through.”

“Thank you, Solas,” Leliana praised, still examining Trevelyan with unveiled interest.

“We should move her to make room for the injured,” Cassandra said, glancing at the cot.

“There’s an empty cabin near Seggrit’s post,” replied Leliana. “I can have one of my people watch her until she wakes. If she wakes.”

“She has exhausted herself, but she is no longer dying,” said Solas, halfway out of the tent. “Rest is what she needs now. If you are moving her, do it quickly.”

“All right,” answered Cassandra, approaching the cot.

“Let me,” Cullen found himself saying, coming to her side and slipping an arm under Trevelyan’s slender shoulders. “You should rest as well, Seeker. I’ve no doubt you overdid it today.”

“Rich words, coming from you, Commander,” Cassandra snorted, but exited the tent nonetheless. Cullen supported Trevelyan’s knees with his other arm, easily lifting her. He tried not to jostle her, but the woman was obviously neck-deep in the Fade, so it hardly mattered. Leliana put a hand gently under Trevelyan’s chin, looking at her wan face.

“This promises to be interesting. I’ll see you in the morning, Commander.”

Cullen nodded in answer, following her out of the tent. He felt eyes follow him the entire way to the empty cabin, though most of Haven was asleep or unconscious. His grip on Trevelyan tightened, and he made a note to place guards outside her door for the night.

  


\------

With a yawn, she opened her eyes, only to hear a thump and a gasp.

“You’re awake!”

An elven woman stood (squatted, really) at the foot of her bed, arms outstretched in defense.

“You needn’t be frightened,” Trevelyan said, bewildered. The girl stuttered, waving her arms about, and then gave up, kneeling with her head to the ground at Trevelyan’s feet.

“You saved us. You stopped the breach getting bigger. It’s all anyone’s talked about for days!”

“Then we’re safe,” Trevelyan breathed. “Wait. They’re..._ pleased _ with me?”

“Yes, my lady.” She scrambled to her feet. “I must tell Lady Cassandra. At once, she said!”

And with that, she was gone, leaving a bemused Trevelyan behind.

_ I suppose I had better go see what all this is about. _

She stood with a stretch, wincing as a hole in her leathers tore wider.

_ Perhaps in something less revealing. _

She glanced at the side table to find what appeared to be strange beige pajamas.

_ Better than flashing all of Haven, I suppose. Maybe. _

_\-------_

The third time Cullen saw Trevelyan was the first time he _ saw _ her.

A light knock interrupted the bickering between Cassandra and the chancellor. Josephine slipped around the table and opened the door to reveal what was certainly not a roasted cut of nug.

She had undeniably noble features. Her hair was full and long, red-brown gently waving. Her grey eyes were large, her jaw strong. Her full lips were pressed together (nerves, perhaps), but, even though she was strikingly pale, she didn’t seem to be on the edge of death anymore. Her dark brows raised in his direction, and he realized he’d been staring. He awkwardly gripped his sword and coughed, looking to Cassandra. The others exchanged pleasantries, and he grappled for what he was going to say.

“This is Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” introduced Cassandra with an inclination of her head.

“I am pleased to see you yet live,” he managed, extending his hand.

She gripped it firmly, serious eyes on him.

“As am I, Commander. A pleasure to meet you,” she said in a crisp accent and a twinkle in her eye.

Naturally, her unexpected humor made him freeze with uncertainty, and he was sure he held onto her hand for longer than was proper, immediately rubbing the back of his neck upon withdrawing. Leliana shot him a knowing glance, amusement in her eyes, and he answered her question a little too loudly. 

**I**

He was shouting orders at the recruits when he saw their gazes slide to something behind him. He gave a frustrated growl and looked over his shoulder to see the Herald, approaching him with a friendly expression on her face.

“All right, pair up and spar until you’re sore enough to pay attention,” he barked.

“Am I interrupting?” she said lightly, eyes darting to the groaning recruits.

“We weren’t getting anywhere anyway,” he sighed, looking down at her.

“Leliana instructed me to have you evaluate my combat skills,” she said in answer to his questioning glance. “However, I can come back later, if it please you.”

“Leliana wants  _ me _ to evaluate you?” he asked, confused.

“If you’d rather not…” she began, face becoming defensive.

“No! No, I don’t mind at all, Lady Herald, it’s just that she normally tests our rogues,” he explained awkwardly. 

_ Not to mention he’d be shocked if a noble from Ostwick actually knew which end of a blade to hold. _

“I believe she sent a runner with a note, if you doubt me,” Trevelyan said, arms crossing. He flipped through the papers on his clipboard, aware of the annoyance radiating from the woman.

_ Commander, _

_ I’m sending an important new recruit your way for analysis. I’m hoping she can get you to take a break from terrorizing our men for a moment---and to give Rylen some practice instead of making the poor man wilt at your side another week. _

_ L _

“Rylen,” he called.

“Yes, Commander!”

“Take over. There’s a matter I need to attend to.”

“Right away, Ser!”

He gestured for Trevelyan to follow him, and they trudged out towards the logging stand through the thick layer of snow on the ground.

“All right, my lady,” he began, pausing at the look on her face.

“Do you have a problem with me?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“What? No. No, why would you…”

“You practically snarled when I arrived, then appeared less than enthused to work with me, even doubting the truth of what I told you,” she frowned, head tilted to the side.

“My apologies. I have no quarrel with you, lady Herald, I assure you, I’m just...stressed. And handling it badly. Please forgive me,” he sighed, kicking himself.

“You are forgiven,” she said, eyes studying him closely. “I don’t have many friends in Haven, and I’d prefer we got along.”

“You have a friend in me, my lady, even if I’m intolerable sometimes,” he said weakly, checking off irritation on the list of symptoms in his mind. To his surprise, she smiled at him.

“I’m glad to hear it, Commander. Shall we begin?”

“Please.”

After running her through a standard archery drill, Cullen had some trouble picking his jaw up from the snow covered ground.

“And you say you’ve never hunted?” he asked, stunned.

She arched a perfect brow. “Are we doubting me again, Commander?”

“Never. Who in the hell trained you?” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“My father’s weapons master. As you can imagine, there’s not much a bann’s daughter can do to pass the time,” she groused, grinning at the expression on his face. “I wasn’t allowed out in the city on my own, so I mostly practiced with what free time I had.”

“It’s done you good,” he praised, triggering a melodramatic curtsy from her. “Have you practiced with moving targets?”

“Yes, just nothing...alive.” She quieted then, rubbing the grip of her bow. “Until the demons, I suppose.”

“It gets easier,” he said, recognizing the stress in her eyes. “You’re more than able to defend yourself.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I...worry about facing other people. I know I can do it, if it comes to that, but…”

“That’s just the humanity in you,” he comforted her with a grim smile. “You won’t ever be sent out alone. Your companions will give you strength.” Her face became thoughtful.

“That makes me feel better. I’m sure Varric will take the edge off.”

“Don’t believe everything Varric says,” Cullen mock warned with a grin. “Especially if it involves me.”

“What? Is there a story here?” she asked, face lighting up.

“Maybe, but we’ve training to do now,” he smirked, a pout blooming on her face. “How are you at hand-to-hand?”

She grimaced. “I know the basics.” He raised an eyebrow.

“I think I’m more...stealth oriented. Stop laughing,” she growled, pushing at his breastplate.

“Let’s see, then,” he said, trying his hardest not to smile. “Hit me.”

“No,” she declared, hand on her cocked hip. Now both of his eyebrows were raised.

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured her, eliciting a snort.

“No, but I will hurt  _ me _ ,” she explained. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you’re in full plate armor and I’m in my leathers.” He looked her over, and she was indeed wearing nothing but some very form-fitting beige leathers.

“Are those pajamas?” he asked, genuinely confused. She flushed, and he struggled to contain his laughter.

“My other outfit was ruined when I FELL OUT OF A RIFT,” she scolded. “This is all that was in my damn cabin.”

“We’ll get that fixed,” he assured her, already planning a conversation with Harritt. “But, for now…” He looked down at his armor and sighed. He removed his mantle, loosening the toggles on his breastplate. She watched patiently, a hint of a smirk on her still pink face.

“Any other requests, my lady?” he asked when he was down to his leathers.

“I’ll let you know,” she teased, taking an aggressive stance.

“All right,” he said, “hi--”

She had already punched him in the throat.

He coughed as she shook out her hand, face colored with surprise.

“That was cheating!”

“I’ve heard all’s fair in war,” she winked, and went to send another punch at him. He managed to stop this one, hand catching her slim wrist, her elbow swiping his ribs.

“You’ve got better instincts than you had me expecting,” he said rather hoarsely, catching her other arm. She grinned up at him.

“Does that mean you yield?” she panted, throwing a hard kick at his stomach as she tried to wrest her arms free.

“Nope,” he replied, using her own momentum to knock her backwards. She regained her balance quickly, managing to avoid tumbling into the snow, and stubbornly came after him again, nearly knocking the wind out of him with a sharp hit below his sternum.

“We’ll need to brush up on your defense, but I’m not altogether too worried about you, especially since you’ll be in a group,” he decided, voice cracking slightly as he raised his hands in surrender.

“Not so bad for a noble?” she asked wryly, and he coughed guiltily, seen through.

“What’s this?” called Varric, approaching with Solas. “Maker have mercy, Princess. You got the Commander out of his armor. And here I thought it didn’t come off!”

“He’s been testing me,” Trevelyan laughed, rolling her eyes.

“More like the opposite,” Cullen admitted, a flush creeping over his face.

“And did he pass?” asked Solas, the corners of his mouth barely upturned.

“Oh, I suppose so,” she replied with a tilt of her head.

“Anyway, we’re getting drinks and thought you two might be interested,” Varric explained. “We’ll be at Flissa’s.”

As Cullen watched the strange pair walk back the way they came, he felt Trevelyan’s gaze on him. She had asked him a question.

“I’m sorry, what?” he stammered.

“Do you want to come drink with us? It’d be good for you,” she repeated, amused.

“I’d better not,” he sighed. “As you well know, I’m very far behind on my paperwork.”

“It’ll keep,” she insisted. “Come on, Commander. Just an hour. I’ll have water in solidarity.”

“Perhaps next time,” he answered, barely catching the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

“As you like.” She observed the neat pile of armor on the ground. “Don’t forget your second skin.”

He groaned, preparing to put it back on. She handed him each piece as he needed it, finally putting the mantle back on his broad shoulders.

“Be safe, Commander. I hear paperwork is quite perilous.”

“I’ll do my best, lady Herald.”

She winked at him over her shoulder as she trekked back to the village.


	2. Chapter 2

When Trevelyan returned from Redcliffe, she was surprised yet pleased to find Cullen among those waiting at the gates of Haven. There were dark smudges of purple under his eyes, and he was even less clean-shaven than usual, but he smiled at her as she approached, and helped her off of her mount.

“Glad to see you back in one piece,” he murmured, holding her steady as she slid down to him.

“Well, someone has to distract you from paperwork,” she answered fondly. 

“Don’t remind me,” he sighed, leading her horse to a stable hand. “Come, we’re debriefing in the chantry.”

They walked up the path together, Trevelyan rubbing at her hands.

“Did it actually get colder while we were gone, or am I crazy?”

“We had another freeze,” answered the Commander, barely concealing a yawn. “I forget not everyone is Fereldan. You wouldn’t believe the fuss some of the Orlesians kicked up…” He yawned again, wincing.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked softly. He looked down at her, mouth set.

“I’ve...had trouble sleeping of late. Is it that obvious?”

“No, I’m just paying attention,” she reassured. He coughed awkwardly, hand going to the back of his neck.

“I...we should hurry. The others are waiting.”

“Lead the way, Commander.”

\------------

“Am I the only one here who thinks this is a terrible idea?” Cullen asked, agitated.

“I don’t necessarily think it’s a great one, but it’ll at least draw some attention,” Trevelyan replied, dark eyes focused on the marker for Val Royeaux. “So long as I’m not pelted to death with copies of the Chant on sight.”

“I will go with her,” sighed Cassandra with a wince at Trevelyan’s quip. “We have little choice in the matter if we are to be taken seriously.”

“As you say, Seeker,” Cullen relented, hand flexing on the grip of his sword. “Wear your armor, Herald.”

“That was the plan,” she replied grimly, absentmindedly tucking a wisp of silky hair behind her ear. The movement drew attention to the pale curve of her neck, and Cullen found himself unexpectedly distracted.

“I think that’s enough for today,” declared Leliana. “Rest while you can, Lady Trevelyan---you leave for Orlais at sunrise.” Trevelyan gave a grimace in response, and Josephine propped open the door, exiting with the spymaster. Cullen made his way around the table to the door, only to be stopped by a hand on his bicep.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to shirk your duties and come to the tavern with me?” coaxed Trevelyan, looking up at him expectantly.

“My apologies, Herald, but I really cannot. I’ve much to do tonight,” he answered reluctantly, not wanting to disappoint her. Her hand slid from his arm, and she gave him an unconvincing pout.

“Foiled again. At least tell me you’ll try and get some rest tonight?” Her arms were folded in front of her, and she tilted her regal face in mock consternation.

“I’ll do what I can,” he managed, her gaze making him feel uncomfortably warm. She smiled at him, then slinked out of the room.

_ Maker have mercy _ , thought Cullen as he stalked to his tent, gripping onto his sword for dear life. He splashed water on his face, looking at himself in the glass. He  _ did _ look haggard---it was getting harder to hide the withdrawal by the day. And the fact that the Herald had noticed was embarrassing, to say the least.

“ _ I’m just paying attention.” _

She had expressed the desire for them to be friends, but he had assumed that meant they would be  _ friendly _ . Now, she was concerned about him, maybe even cared for him. Not even Cassandra had remarked on his deteriorated appearance, and she was the only one who actually knew why it was happening. Besides Leliana, of course, who knew everything and admitted nothing.

He had been stressed over her departure despite himself. While Cassandra was more than capable of protecting the Herald alone, and they had gone with two other companions, all he could think about was the uncertainty on her face when she had talked about going up against human targets. And so, when her arrival was announced, he was waiting at the gate, involuntarily lighting up at the sight of her, basking in the friendly smile she had given him. Tomorrow, she’d be gone again, facing a different slew of enemies, and it bothered him.

She seemed to sincerely want to spend time with him, even as he sabotaged himself with awkward responses and polite declinations. He had work to do, a veritable mountain of missives, and he hadn’t calibrated the trebuchets yet today. While he didn’t doubt he’d enjoy drinking with her, he was startled by how easily she saw through him, and thus uncertain. 

_ Perhaps next time _ . 

He grabbed his clipboard and strode to the training grounds, thinking of all he had yet to do.

“All right, men, we’re burning daylight. Show Rylen your latest excuse for a shield wall.”

\-------

“Princess, isn’t it about time for you to hit the sack?”

“For the  _ last _ time, Varric, I am not helping Solas cheat,” snorted Trevelyan, draining the wine from her glass and provoking a slight smile from the apostate.

“As much as I’d love to believe you, I have my suspicions,” said the dwarf, eyes narrowing over his deck. “But really---we have five hours until we leave.”

“ _ What? _ ” she squawked, looking out a window in disbelief. “Cassandra is going to kill me.” She hurriedly threw down some coppers, jogging out of the tavern to the sound of Varric’s laughter. The sight of the moon looming above her increased her irritation, and she let out an exasperated huff at the distance she had yet to cross to her cabin. Haven was silent, villagers and soldiers alike sound asleep. She picked up her pace, noiselessly descending the stairs.

Upon approaching her cabin, she frowned, noticing something new on the door. She slowed, squinting in the dark, trying to make it out.

_ Shit. _

Someone had painted the Chantry sun on her door in blood.

Her gently wine-addled brain watched as it sluggishly dripped down into the snow.

_ Fresh. Not frozen. _

She backed up, casting a glance over her shoulder. Whomever did this had done it recently. And was likely still in the area. She considered going back to the tavern, pausing upon remembering that she had only left because Varric had prompted it. The Chantry was even further away, and she patted her pockets, cursing herself for being unarmed. 

_ The Commander’s tent. _

As soon as she had thought it, she knew she had to go with it, and quickly. 

_ I’m going to feel very stupid if this is just some overzealous believer’s way of pledging allegiance. _

She loped for the tent, as quietly as possible, clinging to the shadows, constantly glancing behind her. She had nearly made it when she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder, falling to the ground with a grunt. 

And, just like that, she was surrounded.

\-------

Cullen slept fitfully, waking to sounds of agony that leaked out from his nightmares.

He observed the ceiling of his tent with a groan, rubbing his eyes and willing his heartbeat to slow. His skull pounded, a headache instantly blooming across his forehead.

He heard a muffled noise, like a nug being slaughtered.

_ Great. I’ve finally gone crazy. _

Turning over, he buried his face in his pillow, willing himself to go back to sleep.

He heard a decidedly male snarl, and considered the fact of his sanity being intact.

Rolling out of bed, he hastily grabbed his sword and shield, lifting the flap of the tent and sticking his head out. The sight before him took some comprehension.

Three attackers surrounded a thrashing, snow covered blur. Despite the hands over her mouth and throat, Trevelyan was putting up a fight. Hearing his footsteps, two turned around, blades at the ready, while the other yelped in surprise as the blur bit the hand over its mouth and kicked the back of his knee. Cullen ran one attacker through with his sword and smacked the other across the face with his shield. He turned to see Trevelyan strangling her assailant with his own bow, and put his sword to the throat of the remaining man.

“Wait,” she said, voice rough. He looked at her, panting and questioning. She untangled herself from the bow and the corpse.

“Knock him out, but don’t kill him. Leliana---” she coughed harshly “---Leliana will want to question him.”

“Of course,” he answered, opting to whack him upside the head with the butt of his sword instead. He saw her fall to her knees in the snow out of the corner of his eye.

“Herald? Are you all right?” he rumbled, dashing to her side. Already, a dark handprint stood out on the alabaster skin of her throat, and she was holding her right shoulder with her left hand. He gently took her wrist and moved it, revealing the arrow lodged there.

“You’ve been hit,” he murmured, and she nodded, dazed. Before he could stop her, she grabbed the shaft of the arrow and ripped it out, crimson spattering the snow.

“Oh, sweet Maker,” he cursed, clamping his hand over the wound, keeping her upright with the other. Even her lips had gone frost pale, and the whites of her eyes were tinged with yellow. She was definitely in shock.

“Herald? Lady Trevelyan? Can you hear me?” She nodded weakly, grey eyes glassy. Blood continued to gush from the wound, and he squeezed harder with a grimace, making her moan.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, leaning her against his chest as he prepared to pick her up. “Stay with me, all right? Keep those eyes open.” To his surprise, a subdued smile crossed her face.

“Mhm,” she said, then went completely boneless in his arms, unconscious.

\------

“She ripped the arrow out herself?” Josephine asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Cullen confirmed, anxiously scrubbing at his bloody hands with a damp cloth.

“That sounds like her,” murmured Solas, eyes crinkled in amusement as he finished wrapping Trevelyan’s shoulder in a linen bandage. “No lasting harm done, but she won’t be stringing arrows for the next few days.”

“Leliana is interrogating the survivor as we speak,” said Josephine. “If he can be cracked, Sister Nightingale will crack him.”

“I don’t understand how we allowed this to happen in the first place,” snapped Cassandra. “She will have to be watched from now on.”

“So she’s back to being your prisoner, Seeker? That didn’t take long,” called Solas.

“I don’t suppose you have a better alternative, Solas?”

“Perhaps you should let her decide for herself. She’s coming around.”

Cullen jumped from his chair and went to her side, kneeling by the cot. Cassandra and Josephine surrounded him as Trevelyan scrunched up her brow and sighed, eyes slipping open.

“Herald? How are you feeling?” asked Cassandra in what she must have considered a soft tone.

“Mmm. Shitty,” croaked Trevelyan, blinking wearily. 

“You gave the Commander quite a fright,” remarked Solas, with a pointed look to Cullen. She frowned, craning her neck to find him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then caught sight of the blood still on his hands. “Are you hurt?” 

“No, my lady, it’s---it’s not my blood,” Cullen stammered, giving a grateful look to Cassandra as she handed him another cloth. Josephine moved closer to the cot and knelt next to Cullen.

“Lady Herald,” she began, “can you tell us what happened?” Trevelyan nodded, moving to sit up, and Cassandra moved to help, sliding an arm around her.

“We were drinking with Varric,” said Trevelyan, sharing a look with Solas. “I only had two glasses, and then he pointed out how late it was getting, so I hurried to get to bed because of the trip tomorrow. I was about to go into my cabin, but there was something on the door that wasn’t there before.”

“And?” prompted Cassandra, somewhat impatient.

“It was blood. I think it was meant to be the Chantry symbol, but I’m not sure. I was suspicious, so I decided to run, and I...went for the Commander’s tent,” she finished, faintly blushing.

“The tavern was closer,” pointed out Josephine, making Cullen feel somewhat defensive.

“I know, and I considered it, but…” she sighed awkwardly. “I only left because Varric had let me know the time, and the blood was fresh, so I felt like someone  _ knew _ I would be back and alone.”

“I do not think Varric was involved,” Solas said, tilting his head. “He had been with me all day, up until the runner from the Commander sent for me.”

“I know, and I don’t think he’d do that, but in the moment I was scared, and I...I knew I would be safe with the Commander,” Trevelyan murmured, not meeting Cullen’s eyes. He felt a surge of protectiveness, surprised but pleased that she felt that way. He knew he should say something, something reassuring, but his mind predictably failed him.

He was saved by the entrance of Leliana, who was wiping a knife clean with her sleeve.

“Cleric Iona has grown bold these days, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maker, this was the Chantry?” swore Cullen angrily.

“Only part of the Chantry,” corrected Josephine, rising. “She’s the leader of the opposition of the Inquisition within the Chantry, but there are many not aligned with her.”

“Likely less now that her assassination has failed,” Leliana added, voice airy. “I imagine she will be quite surprised to see the Herald alive and well in Val Royeaux.”

“Perhaps we should rethink this in light of recent events…” began Cullen, dismayed.

“No, we should proceed as planned,” Trevelyan said, voice stronger.

“Someone obviously didn’t want you to make the trip,” he retorted, annoyed.

“Which is exactly why I must go.”

“I agree,” cut in Cassandra. “We will be with her,” she continued, sharing a nod with Solas.

“Our illustrious writer will accompany you, now that we’ve made sure he doesn’t have any nefarious motives,” added Leliana. “I suggest you take a sleeping draught. You will need your wits about you.” She tossed Trevelyan a small vial, then gracefully glided from the tent.

“That woman really does think of everything,” muttered Cullen, met with an affirmative grunt from Cassandra. Trevelyan opened the vial and downed it, making a face at the taste. Cassandra and Josephine bade her goodnight, then exited the tent, the former stationing men outside of the tent. Solas followed suit, instructing Trevelyan to send word if she had need of him. Cullen prepared to follow, trying to come up with some comforting platitude to leave the woman with, when he felt cool fingers encircle his bare wrist. He looked down at Trevelyan, startled by how pale and sick she appeared, and she inclined her head toward the chair Solas had left empty. He quickly made his way around the cot and sank into it, arm burning hotter where she had touched him.

“What is it, my lady?”

“I wanted to thank you, and to apologize,” Trevelyan said, moving a hand up to his face when he tried to interrupt her. He was stunned into silence by the gentle pressure of her fingertips on his lips.

“Don’t say it’s all right just yet. I’m more thankful than I can say that you saved me. And I’m very upset that I kept you from getting some rest tonight. I swear I’ll make it up to you when I get back,” she finished, lowering her hand. Gripped with a mix of affection and exasperation, Cullen tentatively took her icy hand in his.

“Herald, your life is infinitely more important to me than sleep,” he murmured, almost missing how her eyes widened in surprise.

“As honored as I am by that, I wish it were otherwise, for your sake,” she answered throatily, her hand gripping his more tightly. “Maker, you’re warm.”

He brought his free hand to hers and covered it, her slender fingers disappearing under his. She hummed happily, relaxing under his touch (and perhaps due to the potion).

“You did the right thing by coming for me tonight,” he began, his eyes blazing into hers. “No matter what, if you’re ever feeling frightened or unsafe, you can always come to me, or write to me if I’m not there, and I will do everything in my power to help. I promise you are safe with me, Lady Herald.” She looked at him for a long time after that, pupils blown. He grew more nervous with every passing second of silence. Finally, she shook her head in disagreement, making him raise an eyebrow.

“Not ‘Lady Herald’,” she said, bare affection on her face. “Evelyn.”

“Evelyn,” he breathed, and she smiled, fighting back a yawn. “Feeling tired yet?”

“A little,” she conceded, eyeing the entrance to the tent. “Do you know who Cassandra put out there?” A tiny crease appeared between her perfect brows. He shook his head, rising out of his seat to poke his head outside. He came back to find her gazing up at him, eyes heavily lidded.

“It’s Rylen and a mage I recognize but do not know personally,” he reported, and she relaxed, looking somewhat relieved.

“I trust Rylen,” she murmured, yawning delicately.

“I think I’ll stay here, as well, if you’ll have me,” he proposed, unsure of where this boldness was coming from. She made to cross her arms, then winced, having aggravated her injury.

“What about your rest?”

“I’ll sleep like a lamb tomorrow, I promise.” She looked as though she were about to argue, but then she stifled another yawn, grey eyes hazy with exhaustion.

“Mmm. You’d better.” He gave a crooked smile, reaching his arm around the small of her back to help her settle further down the cot, the top of her head brushing against his neck. She turned on her side to look at him as she pulled the blanket up to her chin.

“Good night, Cullen,” she whispered, her words sending electricity down his spine.

“Sleep well, Evelyn,” he replied, reaching over to dim the lantern.

For the next few hours, all he could think about was how good his name sounded on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

To his surprise, Cullen managed to keep his promise to Trevelyan, and his sleep was much improved for the rest of the week. It didn’t last long, however, as word came from Leliana’s agents that the Lord Seeker and the templars following him had quite possibly gone mad. This news doubled his already pounding headache, and made his thoughts of the box in his desk drawer multiply. His thoughts were divided between the withdrawal and Trevelyan, of the tender pads of her fingers on his lips, of the look in her eyes when he vowed to protect her, and of the devastating way his name fell out of her mouth.

_ Maker. _

He couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to flame. She was sharp as glass, and could have him in pieces with one faux-serious observation. And, as hard as he had tried not to notice, she was beautiful, stunning, even, and he could not tear his gaze away from her when she was near. Strangest of all, she seemed to actually enjoy his company, actively seeking him out, trusting him with her life. Thinking first of him when she was endangered. Keeping an eye on his health, when she didn’t even know the half of it.

Oh, and she was likely the savior of the entire world, sent by the Maker himself.

So, when the horns signaled her return and he made his way out of the Chantry to greet her only to be intercepted by his least favorite person in Haven, he found himself fantasizing of ways to shove that ridiculous hat down the Chancellor’s throat.

Cullen crossed his arms and prepared to pinch the bridge of his nose as Roderick went on another rambling rant about how the Inquisition promoted heresy, adding that the Templars saw the truth of the situation, until a crisp voice called the Chancellor’s name.

They both turned to see what appeared to be a goddess made flesh. Trevelyan’s long hair, chestnut with the ends glowing copper in the sun, flowed behind her as she ascended the stairs to the Chantry. Her chin was pointed in defiance, and her stormy eyes were gently lined with black kohl, making her look even more striking. The bow on her back swayed with the wind as she approached them, and Cullen had never been more certain that she could be his savior.

“Roderick. I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you harassing the Commander,” she said with a voice that could turn blood to ice. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You will address me as---”

“_ I _ will address you as I please. I could call you much worse things than your name and still be justified. All you’ve done in the months since the Conclave is whine and complain, trying to throw around power you don’t have. I know better than to suggest you pick up a sword, but surely you could be assisting Adan or helping refugees, instead of yowling at the people who are actually making an effort to solve this crisis.” Even though the Chancellor was half a head taller than her, she still managed to look down on him, watching him redden and sputter.

“How _ dare _ you---”

“Was something I said unclear? The Commander and I have work to do. Either start pulling some weight around here or fuck off back to Val Royeaux. The adults are speaking.”

With that, she turned smartly on her heel, marching into the Chantry, Cullen following behind her, leaving the beet red Roderick wheezing on the doorstep.

“That...that was…” Cullen stammered, gawking at her in amazement. She gave him a wink, grinning.

“Hopefully he’ll stop antagonizing you now.”

“Josephine is going to go grey when she hears of this,” he sighed, unable to shake the stupid grin from his face.

“Let her,” Trevelyan said breezily. “She’d look lovely.” She pulled open the door to the war room and ushered him through, brushing the back of his elbow with her hand. He swallowed down his heart, trying to resist the flustering he always felt when she touched him. It didn’t work, and he nearly ran into the war table, scowling at Leliana when he caught her smirk.

As Cullen had hoped, Trevelyan crept into his tent shortly after sundown, an expectant look on her face.

“I don’t suppose I could steal you away for tonight? Solas is all set to absolutely smite Varric at diamondback, and I need a partner to heckle him with. Not to mention you’ll get to know Sera and Bull better.” He put down his pen and looked up at her, pretending to think about it.

“I guess the paperwork will keep,” he quipped, and her face lit up.

“Really?” she said, eyes sparkling.

“Really,” he replied, lips crooking into a smile. “Besides, if I keep turning you down, you may not feel inclined to keep inviting me.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully.

“Oh, you couldn’t get rid of me so easily, Cullen.” Taking her outstretched hand, Cullen rose from his seat. She linked arms with him and described her meeting with Bull as they walked to the tavern, her face growing rosy from the cold. When they made it through the door, Trevelyan waved to Varric.

“Look who I found!”

A cheer went across the table, Varric and Bull raising their glasses in welcome.

“Well, I’ll be a half-shaved druffalo. The rest of us had given up on you, Curly!” called Varric as Trevelyan ordered them drinks. Solas cleared his throat from across the table, and Varric tossed him a coin purse with a grimace. “Well, most of us.”

“Sera and gentlemen, may I present Commander Cullen,” Trevelyan said dramatically, tossing Cullen a smile and sliding next to Solas. Cullen filled the last empty seat next to her, placing him across from Sera, who was making eye contact with him as she gulped down ale.

“Pleased to meet you,” rumbled Bull, his deep voice seeming to quake the table. “You’re doing good work with your men. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” answered Cullen, surprised. “We’ve a ways to go, but I’m pleased with our progress.”

“You’re the Commander, yeah? Does that mean you’re the boss?” asked Sera, chin on her hand.

“No---I, er, am not the leader of the Inquisition, I merely command its forces,” managed Cullen, gratefully accepting his ale from Trevelyan. Sera turned her gaze to Trevelyan.

“Does that mean you’re his boss, then?” 

Trevelyan laughed, throwing back her head.

“I’m no one’s boss, Sera,” she replied, sipping at her wine.

“A shame, that. Man like him should have a woman over him. Because positions.”

There was a painful silence, followed by the roar of Bull’s laughter. Cullen had nearly choked on his ale, daring a glance at Trevelyan, who was shaking her head with an embarrassed smile. Varric chuckled until he turned pink, and even Solas seemed quietly amused.

“Keep trying, Sera, but distractions aren’t going to win this for Varric,” Trevelyan teased, making the corner of Solas’s mouth upturn. 

“That’s bold talk, Princess. I’ve got this one,” retorted Varric, intently studying his cards.

Any discomfort Cullen had faded as the night progressed and he drank in Trevelyan’s presence. She would peek at Solas’s cards and then whisper in his ear what they were, laughing into his shoulder as Varric grew more and more agitated (and his pockets more and more light). The liquor made him bold, and he found himself whispering into her ear in turn, his nose lightly brushing her sweet-smelling hair.

“Mmm, Varric’s almost given up,” he murmured, and she looked at him in wonder.

“How can you tell?” she breathed.

“He’s got the same look on his face as when I try to talk to him about the trebuchets.” At that, Trevelyan clapped her hands over her mouth and _snorted_, overcome with giggles, and he elbowed her gently, trying not to laugh himself. He failed, of course, and could not hide his smile as he looked down at her, pink and shaking with laughter.

He felt lighter than he had in months.

Eventually, Varric was destroyed (to the tune of 40 sovereigns), Sera drank herself into a stupor and slid under the table, and Bull was regaling them with bizarre stories of aggressive trees. When it came time to leave, Cullen held out his arm for Trevelyan.

“Walk you home?”

She batted her lashes at him and grinned, taking his arm and pulling in close.

They said their goodbyes to the others and walked (too quickly for Cullen’s liking) to her cabin, watching the snow fall down on Haven. As they reached her doorstep, she turned around, leaning against the wall.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.

“As much as I usually dislike pleasant activities, yes,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes at him. “When are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Likely around noon. I’ll be taking Sera out for the first time: there may be casualties.”

“She’s quite...interesting,” he conceded, blushing faintly at the memory of her joke.

“She can be chaotic, but she’s good people, and a crack shot with that bow.” She paused. “I trust you won’t overwork yourself while we’re gone?” He began to protest, but she silenced him with a tilt of her head.

“Cullen, not only do you have to deal with missives and the political messes, but you’re out there training recruits and checking fortifications fourteen hours a day. That’s much more than anyone else---except perhaps Leliana, and I don’t think she actually sleeps. You need to take care of yourself, too,” she finished, eyes wide and solemn. The sincerity in her voice cut like a blade.

“Fine,” he relented. “I will try and get more sleep so long as you do your best to stay safe.” Her face softened, and she smiled fondly.

“For you, I will. Goodnight, Cullen.”

“Sleep well, Evelyn,” he replied, and she gave him one last grin and disappeared into the cabin.

Cullen was surprised to see Trevelyan half an hour before noon as she came into his tent.

“Is something wrong, my lady?” he asked, confused by her presence. She wrinkled her nose at the formality.

“Nothing significant, it’s just...has Sera been around here recently? I’m missing some...items.” Trevelyan flexed her hands idly, seeming uncomfortable.

“Has she stolen from you?” Cullen asked, serious now.

“No, not exactly, she’s just testing me, I think. Forget I asked.” She made to exit the tent, her forehead dimpling with frustration.

“Evelyn?” he called, and she turned, listening. “Be safe.”

She gave him a soft smile.

“Be well.”

  


That night, as Cullen prepared to try and sleep, he pulled back his coverlet to reveal several pairs of silky underthings on his mattress.


	4. Chapter 4

Trevelyan groaned as Solas gently rubbed circles into her back, vision finally clearing. He held her hair back with his other hand, and assisted her when she tried to rise, guiding her away from the puddle of vomit.

“Why was that so much harder than usual? I thought I was getting better,” she panted, receiving a sympathetic look from Cassandra.

“Somethin’s not right, innit?” said Sera, gesturing broadly with her bow. “The Fade is  _ wiggly _ here.”

“As surprised as I am to say it, I’m of the same mind as Sera,” added Solas, releasing Trevelyan’s hair with a pat to her shoulder. “We do not yet know what these rifts can do: this one appeared to alter the time around it. Quite fascinating.”

“Quite,” echoed Trevelyan tiredly, wincing as Cassandra clapped her hard on the back.

“You did well, Herald.”

Trevelyan smiled weakly, appreciative. As they walked through the newly opened gate, one of Leliana’s scouts approached.

“Herald. You’ll find the mage leaders down this road, in the Gull and Lantern. You should know---no one here expected our arrival.”

“What?” frowned Trevelyan, confused.

“If this is a trick…” growled Cassandra.

“We’d better contact Haven, just in case this gets nasty,” Trevelyan sighed, nodding to the scout in thanks and looking for the nearest spot to camp on the map.

As Cassandra set up the tents while Sera cackled at her, Trevelyan was surprised to be handed a package by one of the agents standing by.

“This arrived from Haven an hour ago,” they reported.

“Thank you,” she murmured, walking away to find a log to sit on. A letter, affixed with the seal of the Inquisition, was attached. She slid her finger under the wax, breaking it, and unrolled the parchment.

_ Lady Herald ---- _

_ I think I have found what you were missing. If not, I’m afraid this situation will become even more awkward, but I decided the possible need was worth the risk. Do try not to kill her until you return---you need all the help you can get out there. _

_ C. R. _

Trevelyan needed a moment to process what she had just read, her eyebrows becoming closer and closer as her brow furrowed. She broke open the parcel, keeping the contents enclosed and peered inside.

It was her missing smalls. At least five pairs.

And she was going to strangle Sera with them.

After a lengthy chase and nearly an hour of maniacal laughter, Trevelyan had managed to get Sera to promise to  _ try _ not to involve Cullen the next time she decided to embarrass her.

“He’s probably the most stressed man in Thedas, the last thing he needed was to see my underwear,” Trevelyan groused, head in her hands. Sera paused her gleeful chuckling.

“See, that’s why I did it, yeah? Lighten old jackboot up a bit. Besides, I thought I’d help him out, seeing as he won’t be seeing your silky bits otherwise.”

“Maker have mercy,” muttered Cassandra, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Anyway, I think you’ve had enough for a bit. I’m focusing on darling Vivi for the moment,” Sera grinned deviously.

“ _ That _ I can get behind,” snorted Trevelyan, imagining Vivienne’s formal wear run up the Haven flagpole. Or her room infested with nugs.

“Shall we hurry to the tavern?” Cassandra said pointedly, all business per usual.

“Of course,” replied Trevelyan dutifully, Sera still giggling.

_ C--- _

_ First off, I am terribly sorry you were involved in this, and rest assured I’ve done my best to convince the responsible party not to include you in future. Whether or not this will be honored remains to be seen. Secondly, I thank you for the return of my possessions. Something here isn’t quite right (see full report written by S. P.), don’t get too worried, will keep you updated. _

_ Remember to set some time apart for eating, _

_ E _

Cullen shook his head, grinning lopsidedly at the surprisingly spiky writing in his hand as he reread the letter. As little as he knew of Sera, he didn’t think she would pass up the opportunity to embarrass him again. Especially if Trevelyan was involved. He felt a little odd at the idea of her...items in someone else’s bed. 

_ At least it wasn’t Solas. Or Blackwall. Or Bull… _

This line of thought was not helping.

As a precaution, he had placed a lock on his chest of drawers, though he knew it would only amuse Sera if she tried to pilfer through his things. The missive mentioned in the letter was odd: apparently, despite Fiona’s semipublic invitation to the Inquisition, no one in Redcliffe was actually expecting their presence. Cullen didn’t like it, but agreed with Leliana that the only thing to do was to wait. Thus, he was surprised to hear horns announcing the Herald’s return.

He folded the letter and slid it into his desk drawer, pausing to splash his face with water. Ironically, he hadn’t actually eaten yet that day, having lost track of time, and now it was nearing twilight. Adjusting his mantle, he strode out of his tent and toward the stables. His eyes slid over the others, seeking Trevelyan, surprised to find she was riding with a mage he had never seen before.

The man was taller than Trevelyan, her head coming up to the middle of his throat, and he rode on the saddle behind her, a slim but muscular arm wrapped around her stomach. The party was lit by a floating magelight, and Cullen could make out the icon of the Tevinter Imperium emblazoned on the mage’s pauldrons. He was bronze-skinned and had meticulously managed facial hair, not a hint of stubble on his jaw. Realizing he was being watched, the man met Cullen’s gaze, then whispered something in Trevelyan’s ear. She rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head. He dismounted first, holding his arms out, and she jumped down into them, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Cullen grew more suspicious of the mage (whom Trevelyan couldn’t have known for more than a few weeks, and yet already seemed so affectionate with) by the second, hand reflexively resting on his pommel.

“Commander,” greeted Trevelyan, who was loping towards him, dragging the mage by their linked arms. “It’s good to see you. How are you?”

“Fine,” he said rather stiffly, and her face fell a little bit. He gave a pointed look to the man whose arm was entwined with hers, and he cleared his throat.

“My apologies,” she expressed, looking up at her companion. “Commander, this is Dorian Pavus. Dorian, this is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Dorian declared with a dramatic smile, profferring his hand. Cullen cautiously shook it.

“Ah. Your Commander has quite the strong grip,” he winced, shaking out his hand once Cullen released it. 

“How did this...Pavus come to join you?” asked Cullen, and Trevelyan gave him a strained look.

“It’s a bit of a long tale, we should head to the war room and I’ll tell all of you at once,” she said briskly, unfurling her arm from Dorian’s. “Hang tight. I’ll come get you for introductions later,” said Trevelyan to Dorian. He gave a drawn out sigh, then smirked.

“I do rather like watching you leave.”

Cullen started, but Dorian failed to notice, having already turned away. Trevelyan, however, caught on, brows knitting.

“He’s our ally,” she reminded, raising an eyebrow as she looked up at Cullen.

“So I hear,” muttered Cullen, heading for the Chantry. Trevelyan matched him stride for stride, arms crossed.

“And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” she retorted, the corners of her mouth downturning. He stopped in front of the doorway, scowling down at her.

“Was I incorrect in determining the man is a Tevinter?” he asked gruffly.

“No, but like I said, it’s a long story,” Trevelyan repeated, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“I certainly look forward to hearing it, then,” Cullen snapped, and for a brief moment, he thought he caught hurt and confusion flitting across her face.

“Fine. Let’s get on with this,” she retorted, voice icy. She flung open the door and marched through the Chantry, moving surprisingly quickly.

He rubbed his forehead, regret and guilt setting in, along with a cocktail of other emotions he didn’t quite recognize. She had greeted him, asked him about how he was doing, was genuinely happy to see him, and he had let his suspicions ruin it. He had looked forward to her return for nearly a month, and now, he had fouled it all up. Cullen sighed as he followed her from a distance, wincing as she almost slammed the door behind her. He needed to get ahold of himself, and quickly.

\-------------

“This is ridiculous,” Cullen heard himself say rather loudly an hour later. “You need to forget this madness and get the templars.”

Anger radiated off of Trevelyan in waves; her stormy eyes narrowed.

“In case you weren’t listening earlier, Commander, Felix said that Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me. I doubt he’s going to just let me go about my business---and I couldn’t, anyway, with Redcliffe being torn to shreds by rifts that can alter time.”

“She’s quite right,” agreed Leliana. “We’ve received an invitation on your behalf to continue talks at Redcliffe castle. He is so complimentary of you that I am certain he wishes to kill you.”

“You should have seen the way he looked at me,” said Trevelyan quietly, face stony. “It made my skin crawl.”

“All the more reason for you not to go,” argued Cullen, his head throbbing. “Even if you did go to this  _ meeting _ , you would be facing him alone. We don’t have the manpower to take the castle: nor does nearly anyone in Thedas.”

“The magister---” began Josephine.

“ _ Has outplayed us _ ,” growled Cullen.

“I never said that I thought force was the way to play this,” interjected Trevelyan, pointedly not looking at Cullen. “That’s what he’ll expect of us. We have to be smart, and we have to act now. Are there any alternative ways that feed into the castle?”

“Yes,” murmured Leliana, becoming much more animated. “There is a secret passageway. An escape route for the family.”

“That’s not present on any of the blueprints,” remarked Josephine, thumbing through her copies on her clipboard.

“Yes, hence the word  _ secret _ ,” teased Leliana with a half smile. “I have used it myself. It’s not much, but we could send agents through.”

“No. They would be discovered the second they set foot in the castle,” rebutted Cullen, growing more agitated by the minute.

“Which is why we need a distraction,” Josephine replied, with a nod to Trevelyan. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius so desires?”

“It’ll be risky, but it’s the best shot we’ve got,” said Trevelyan, determination written on her features.

“I cannot in good conscience let you do this.” Cullen stalked over to Trevelyan, arms crossed. She looked up at him defiantly, eyes black with frustration.

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” sang out a new voice, and Dorian glided into the war room.

“Sister Nightingale, this man says he has useful information about Redcliffe,” said the agent behind Dorian weakly. Leliana waved him away, eyes sparkling in amusement.

“Were you listening at the door?” asked Trevelyan, a crooked grin of affection pulling at her mouth.

“Hardly,” Dorian sniffed. “You really need to put some kind of charm on it. It’s awfully thin, and some of you are being impressively loud,” he finished with a look to the Commander.

“We don’t even know this man,” Cullen scoffed, hand again choking at his pommel. “How do we know you aren’t a part of this as well?”

“Well, considering I abandoned what I thought would be my life’s work, left the homeland I love to slum it down South, and am now working to defeat a man I once idolized, I’d consider it poor writing to add double agent to my repertoire,” he opined. “Besides, you’d be foolish not to acknowledge that you need all the help you can get, even if it’s from a Tevinter.”

“Write to Alexius and accept his invitation. I’ll get a group and leave for Redcliffe tomorrow, the moment we have everything in order. The faster we get there, the less time we’ll have had to plan our attack, which will cause less suspicion,” Trevelyan explained, looking down at the map of the castle. “That, paired with the insider knowledge Dorian can lend, will give us the edge we need.”

“It shall be as you say,” answered Leliana, gazing intently at Dorian. “I’ve some questions for you, Master Pavus.”

“Do call me Dorian. I look forward to answering them, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as talking about myself…” he replied, winking at Trevelyan, who rolled her eyes. With that, Josephine propped open the door, and the others filed out, leaving Leliana and her victim alone. Cullen clenched his jaw, watching Trevelyan stride out of the Chantry.

Couldn’t she see that this plan was suicide? She would be facing magic the likes of which never seen before, without the help of a military force, inside a castle notorious for being impregnable, all to gain the help of a slew of apostates who were more likely to become abominations than assist in sealing the Breach, regardless of their intentions. He shook his head, ignoring Josephine’s questioning look, and stalked back to his tent.

\------------

Trevelyan stared at the frozen lake, fractured moonlight glazing its surface. She sat on the dock, legs dangling off of the edge, swaying gently. An apple, barely touched, was in her gloved hand, and she idly considered it, taking a small bite. The sigh that escaped her billowed into a cloud of steam in the freezing night air, and she drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

She was certain that she had made the right decision. The templars were downright hostile towards the Inquisition, and had recused themselves to some distant fort to sneer at the unfolding chaos. The mages obviously needed their help, as they were caught in the clutches of a time-bending magister who was likely tearing Thedas apart, rift by rift. Alexius was a massive threat, and Trevelyan recognized it the second she laid eyes on him. 

So why was Cullen so convinced she was making a mistake?

She tossed the apple to a nearby snowbank for a wandering nug, huffing in frustration. He was obviously suspicious of Dorian, but to a degree she had never seen before. Considering all of the mage-templar fights that the Commander had broken up, it didn’t make any sense. So much for the common goal. The fact that Dorian was Tevinter certainly made it worse, but, despite herself, she had hoped that Cullen would trust her judgment and understand she’d never bring a threat into Haven.

And Dorian was far from a threat. He had risked his life several times over, holding off demons pouring from the Redcliffe chantry rift for Maker knows how long, seeking out the Inquisition for help even though he knew he’d be distrusted and even hated. Offensively, he was a talented mage, and he had attempted a barrier for her when she was caught off guard, in spite of having very little prowess for defensive magic. 

She looked up at the sky, catching the faint glow of the Breach from afar, then tensed as footsteps approached, her posture straightening. Hearing the familiar clank of obsidian pauldrons, she didn’t bother turning.

“Commander,” she said flatly, eyes still on the sky. “Was there something you needed?” She heard him pause, presumably in surprise.

“I...Lady Trevelyan. Sister Nightingale completed her vetting of the mage, and deemed him trustworthy.”

Trevelyan scowled at the title, and it only deepened at the words that followed. She nimbly stood, ignoring his outstretched hand, and turned to look at him, arms crossed.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“He---no,” he stammered, not meeting her eyes. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I let my misgivings get the best of me, and it was dishonorable.” She took a step towards him, getting in his face and forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“Commander, do you think me stupid? Do you really think I would bring someone into Haven without being absolutely certain of their intentions?” He swallowed, amber eyes on hers. “I expected this kind of behavior from the others, but for some reason, I had hoped you’d trust my judgment. Imagine my surprise at beholding quite the opposite,” she muttered bitterly, breaking her gaze and turning away.

“My lady,” Cullen rumbled, voice steadier. “I in no way intended to misrepresent my faith in you. I trust your judgment implicitly, though I have not been acting like it. I…” he faltered, and she met his eyes once more, unexpectedly finding pain in them. 

“As you may have guessed, I have had...dealings...with mages in the past that were not---were less than pleasant. Particularly blood mages, which are common in Tevinter, as you know. I let my apprehension cloud my judgment, and in my fear, I was most unworthy. I swear I will make it up to you, and I beg your forgiveness.” He swallowed again, thickly, and Trevelyan felt her anger and frustration begin to dwindle as those honey-coloured eyes warmed her face. Surprise crossed his face as she unfolded her arms and took his large hands in her slender ones.

“Cullen...I really, really need you to trust me. I know that a lot of the time you don’t approve of my decisions, but I  _ need _ you to understand that I’m doing what I have to.” She paused, searching for the correct words. “Your support---and your friendship---means the world to me.” He gripped her hands tightly.

“About Redcliffe,” Cullen started, face growing pink, “I realize now that you know the situation much better than I do, and I should have understood that, and while the plan causes me apprehension, you know better than I what is necessary. Please know that I’m doing my best to protect you from danger, and I’m trying to keep my...personal feelings apart from my counsel. You have my friendship and support, always, and I will do my utmost to be worthy of yours once more.”

“Personal feelings?” asked Trevelyan, pulse jumping at her throat, and Cullen’s flush deepened.

“Herald...Evelyn...I do not want your departure for Redcliffe to be the last time I see you,” he said softly, and a lump grew in her throat. There was a pause, and she cleared her throat, releasing his hands in favor of wrapping her arm in his.

“My forgiveness is yours, on one condition,” Trevelyan assured, smiling gently. 

“Anything,” he replied, and she felt the gravel of his voice in her chest.

“Apologize to Dorian.”

“I already have,” he admitted, the scarred corner of his mouth turning up. “After Leliana called me back in with her decision, I was going to seek you out immediately, but he intercepted me, saying I needed to let you ‘cool off.’ I apologized for misjudging him, and he was quite gracious. We talked a little, and we’ve a chess game planned.”

“He told you to let me  _ cool off _ ?” Trevelyan repeated, incredulous.

“Yes. I---was that wrong?” Cullen answered, frowning rather nervously.

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Damn that man. He’s insufferable. Also, he’s definitely going to try and cheat. Make him shake out his sleeves every once in a while.”

“Noted,” breathed Cullen with relief. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“You’re forgiven,” grinned Trevelyan, beginning to walk them back to the village. “It’s the least I can do, after the Sera debacle.” Cullen smiled back at her, shaking with laughter.

“I must admit, finding your lost  _ items _ in my bed was the last thing I expected.” Trevelyan’s jaw dropped.

“In your  _ bed _ ? Maker have mercy,” she groaned, face growing hotter by the second. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not as though you put them there,” reassured Cullen, still laughing despite his efforts to conceal it. “It was certainly a distraction.” Trevelyan found herself lost in his gleaming eyes, in the shadow on his jaw, in those scarred lips.

“I’m glad it was you, at least,” she found herself saying, to her and Cullen’s astonishment. He raised both of his eyebrows at her, a bemused smile on his face.

_ Shit. Since when have I lost the ability to censor my thoughts? _

“I mean, imagine if it had been Solas,” she chattered. “I would never be able to look him in the eyes again…”

To her eternal relief, he took it in stride, laughing and changing the subject, and she almost forgot that she was likely to die before the week was over as they continued to Haven.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen barely grabbed the bucket in time before another wave of nausea hit him.

His vision swam as he retched, sweat pouring down his temples as his whole body shook like a nug struck by lightning. Panting, he shoved the bucket away, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes, trying to relieve the intense pressure in his skull.

_ Only one thing could make this better. _

The image of the box in his desk danced through his mind, and he groaned, putting his head between his knees. This was the sickest he’d ever been, and he knew it was only going to get worse.

_ Would just a little really be that bad? _

He staggered over to his washbasin, splashing water on his face and bare chest, and it gave him just a touch of relief before he grew unbearably warm again. With a grunt of effort, he sat back down on his bed, the springs of the mattress squeaking in protest at his rough descent. 

_ Just a little. _

He was lucky this wave of withdrawal hadn’t hit him until the middle of the night. How was he supposed to function if this happened during the day? Or during battle?

_ I should be taking it _.

He thought of the relief downing that same familiar vial would bring---his headache would melt away, his heart rate would slow to normal, he’d be able to _ feel _ the power surging through his veins---but just as quickly, he saw Uldred, he felt the walls of the cage around him, he heard the unaffected tones of the Tranquil in Kirkwall, and he could feel the heat of what used to be Meredith burning his eyes.

_ No. No more. _

Thankfully, he woke to barely a whisper of pressure behind his brow, sighing in relief.

By the time he’d put on his armor and forced himself to eat part of a pear, it was time for morning drills. He made his way to the field, clipboard in hand, when he felt a tap at his shoulder. Glancing behind him, he found Leliana, who had a sealed missive in her hand.

“Come along,” she beckoned, walking briskly to the war room. He followed close behind, trusting Rylen to handle the men.

_ Nightingale--- _

_ Opponent neutralized and captured. Support of allies gained, as equals, not conscripts. T and D. P. en route. Expect some company in the next week. No casualties. _

_ S. C. P. _

No casualties, and Trevelyan was on her way back to hi---them---already. Cullen breathed a sigh of thanks to the Maker, feeling relieved. Leliana arched an eyebrow at him.

“I must admit, I’m rather surprised you are taking this so well,” she lilted. “It will be quite a challenge accommodating all of Redcliffe’s mages, especially with no oversight.”

“None of us were there,” he pointed out, though the thought admittedly caused him discomfort. “We have to trust that she made the right decision: she knows the stakes better than the rest of us ever will.”

“I agree,” Josephine said, brow knitted, “but why is she coming back so soon? And with only Dorian and not the rest of her party?”

“Perhaps they are escorting the magister…” reasoned Cullen, but he knew as soon as he had said it that it was improbable. 

“They wouldn’t release him from Cassandra’s custody,” answered Leliana, rereading the note. 

“I suppose we shall find out upon their return,” concluded Josephine.

Six hours later, the horns sounded, but the advisors (who had met again for their daily review) had scarcely made it to the door of the war room before it was wrenched open by a wild-eyed Trevelyan.

Her auburn hair was matted in its braid, and there were ashes all over her. Instead of its usual alabaster, her face was tinged yellow, eyes sunken above rings of violet. Her jerkin was torn, rent with claw marks and revealing small patches of bruised skin, and the glove on her left hand was basically carbon. But Cullen had barely even looked at her before she threw her arms around his neck, her whole body stretched to the point of breaking in order to reach him.

“Cullen,” she choked, voice rough. “You’re okay.” Bewildered, he wrapped his arms around her, bending down so she didn’t have to strain herself. She was shaking, her ragged breaths brushing his ear, and he held her tighter, trying to calm her down.

“Hey, hey, of course I’m okay,” he murmured, and she pulled back to look up at him, face stricken with panic. Her hands gripped his mantle, and her eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn’t slept in days.

“I had to see,” Trevelyan said, voice strident. “I had to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?” asked Leliana, who looked just as clueless as Cullen for once. At the sound of her voice, Trevelyan turned, still in Cullen’s arms, and pounced over to her, hugging the spymaster tightly and burying her face in her shoulder.

“Leliana,” Trevelyan breathed, “you would not believe how good it is to see you.” Leliana brought a hand up to stroke Trevelyan’s hair, shooting the others a baffled yet concerned look. 

Luckily, an explanation had arrived.

“Andraste’s ass,” cursed Dorian, who looked nearly as worn down as Trevelyan as he opened the door. “Why doesn’t she run that fast when we’re actually fighting someone?” He took in the scene before him. “Evie, darling, do try not to strangle the songbird,” he sighed, and Trevelyan seemed to regain control of herself, apologizing and stepping away from Leliana. She leaned against the war table, exhausted, and Dorian quickly put a chair under her.

“So, we’re back,” he said wearily. “I assume you have questions.”

“Where are the others?” said Josephine, who seemed rather miffed that she didn’t get a hug.

“They remained behind to return in a manner that didn’t involve riding for a day and a half straight,” Dorian answered.

“You’ve both been riding for that long without a break?” Cullen asked, looking worriedly at Trevelyan, who nodded tiredly from her chair. “Maker’s breath, why?”

“Because I am quite possibly the best friend in Thedas,” sniffed Dorian, rubbing at his eyes. “Our loving savior hasn’t eaten or slept in nearly four days,” he added, voice becoming serious. “Perhaps we should attend to that before we start storytime.”

“No,” Trevelyan rasped. “Let’s get this over with.”

\--------

“I’m not even sure where to begin---the demon army, or the assassination of the empress?” Leliana questioned incredulously. Trevelyan gave a weak nod. Dorian, who had joined her on the chair, nodded off on her shoulder.

“That’s only the beginning of what this Elder One is capable of,” she remarked, thinking of the swirling green “sky” (or lack thereof). 

“But why is this _ creature _ so concerned with you?” Josephine asked.

“Alexius said what happened to me at the temple was a mistake,” Trevelyan explained, removing the ruined glove from her marked hand and dully observing as it crumbled into dust. “Apparently, _ this _ wasn’t meant for me: it was given to me by accident, somehow.”

“So you’ve effectively foiled their plans,” mused Leliana.

“We’ve got to close the Breach the moment we can safely do so,” Trevelyan declared, her elevated tone waking up Dorian, who grumbled whinily. “We’ve seen the consequences firsthand if we fail, and we _ cannot _ allow them to happen.”

“This conversation can wait,” interjected Cullen, and Dorian nodded in agreement. “You need to get some rest---you’re dead on your feet.”

“All right,” ceded Trevelyan, shakily getting up from her chair. Cullen came to help her, slipping an arm under her shoulders for support.

“Sleep well,” said Leliana. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  


They said their goodbyes, and Cullen walked Trevelyan to her cabin, amazed that she was still able to talk, let alone stand.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. She looked up at him, and her face crumpled at the sight.

“No,” she breathed, voice catching. He held her more tightly, opening the cabin door.

“You’re safe, now. I won’t let anyone harm you,” he promised, and she shook her head as he helped her onto her bed.

“I’m not worried about me,” she whispered, fear in her too-bright eyes as she untied her laces with shaking fingers. “Cullen, I’ve seen..._ terrible _ things. Things that could still happen.” He pulled the chair up next to her and sat, taking her hand in his.

“You stopped it,” he reminded her. “You and Dorian fixed everything.”

“I don’t know that for sure,” she said, voice cracking, and she looked away, tears in her eyes.

“You saw me,” he realized. “Me and Leliana.” She nodded, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

“And Cassandra, and Solas,” she murmured. “It’s all I can see. At least when we made it back, I could talk to them, and they reassured me, showed me they were okay, but...I couldn’t shake this panic that I was somehow too late, that you would be… Every time I close my eyes, it’s all I can see…”

“Evelyn, that didn’t happen, and it’s not going to happen,” he soothed, cupping her cheek in his rough hand and brushing away her tears with his thumb. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” She didn’t seem convinced, biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed.

“But that’s just it, Cullen---it _ did _ happen. They suffered---you suffered--- _ horrible _ things."

“What happened?” he asked softly. “What did you see?”

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“All right,” he conceded, and he covered her up with her blanket, pulling it snug around her. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“You should rest…” she croaked.

“Actually, I think I’ve had more rest than you this week,” he joked, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be right here if you wake up. And because I’m here, you’ll know that you saved me, and all of us, okay?”

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said, voice fragile.

“Of course.”

  
  


Several times, Cullen woke to the sound of Trevelyan having a nightmare, and each time, he gently shook her awake, squeezing her hand and stroking her back. She would wake up, eyes panicky, then see his face and relax, breathing slowing as she apologized. He talked to her softly until she calmed down, and then she would fall back asleep, her hand still in his.

The final time he had to wake her, she started crying as soon as she saw him.

“What is it?” he murmured,

“Red lyrium. Red lyrium happened,” she mumbled, and he understood.

  


“All right, my sleeping beauty, I’ve some fruit that I _ will _make you eat, so---oh, am I interrupting something?” said Dorian loudly. Cullen and Trevelyan groaned in unison, the latter throwing her arm over her eyes in protest as the noon sun blazed through the open doorway. Cullen sat up hurriedly, slipping his hand from Trevelyan’s as Dorian gave him a knowing look.

“There’s enough fruit for you to have a taste, Commander,” he said innocently, and Cullen glared at him.

“I love you, but I hate you,” grumbled Trevelyan from the bed as Dorian sat at her feet, shoving the platter of food into her lap.

“If only I had a sovereign for every time I’ve heard both of those phrases,” he replied airily as Cullen stood awkwardly. “Not joining us for breakfast, then?”

“I, er, I have to see to my duties,” he stammered, eyes wandering to Trevelyan. “You should...eat. And rest,” he said lamely.

“Thank you for everything, Cullen,” Trevelyan replied seriously, somehow overlooking his extreme awkwardness. His face softened.

“It’s the least you deserve, my lady,” he murmured, bowing his head as he left.

Dorian raised his eyebrows impossibly high, and Trevelyan pelted him with a grape.


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen watched from afar as Trevelyan approached the center of the crater, left hand outstretched and bare. She was surrounded by mages, who were supervised by Solas and Cassandra, and as her hand arced a sliver of green light toward the Breach, the mages fell to their knees, an enormous amount of power surging from them. There was a loud crack, and a wave of force knocked them all back, unsettling a cloud of dust. He clenched the grip of his sword as he waited for it to clear, his men equally nervous. A loud cheer went up, and Trevelyan became visible, blood dripping from her nose but a huge smile on her face.

“She did it,” murmured Leliana from his side, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth. “The Breach is closed.”

They watched as Trevelyan turned toward them, waving excitedly as Cassandra clapped her on the back, a rare smile on the Seeker’s face. Cullen cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a whoop, his men following suit, and she ascended to raucous noise, relief and joy in the air.

“It worked,” she breathed to Cullen and Leliana, beaming through the blood streaming down her face. Rylen produced a handkerchief and placed it in her hand with a nod, earning her thanks as she held it to her nose, eyes wide in relief.

“Well done,” Cullen praised, surprised at how rough with emotion his voice had become.

“To our beautiful savior!” crowed Dorian, raising his glass to the scar in the sky. A hurrah of agreement went up through the tavern, and Trevelyan laughed as everyone tried to clink their cup with hers. Dorian walked her out to a bench in front of the fire, arm around her shoulders. Haven was more alive than she had ever seen it, its inhabitants drinking, dancing, and giggling.

“I can’t believe it’s really gone,” she murmured to Dorian, taking a long swig. 

“I can,” he answered cheekily, grinning as Cassandra approached them. “Look, even the Seeker’s in a good mood. You really can work miracles.”

“Very funny,” Cassandra huffed, a quiet smile on her face as she sat on Trevelyan’s other side. 

“Want a drink?” offered Trevelyan, holding out her tankard.

“No, thank you,” the Seeker replied, wrinkling her nose. “I dislike the taste.”

“So does everyone else,” laughed Dorian, “we just think getting absolutely shitfaced is worth it.” Trevelyan gave a long-suffering sigh, sharing a look with Cassandra.

“I didn’t get to give you the proper congratulations,” began Cassandra, regarding Trevelyan with faint affection in her eyes. “You have vanquished the threat---we are all in your debt.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” reminded Trevelyan, nudging Cassandra with her shoulder. “This is a victory that we all earned.”

“I’ll drink to that,” agreed Dorian. “Anyone care to dance?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m nowhere near inebriated enough for that yet,” groaned Trevelyan, and he pouted dramatically.

“Would your answer be different if I were, say, blonde and awkward?”

“I will set Sera on you,” she threatened, pinching his bare tricep.

“Oh, speaking of,” purred Dorian as Cullen approached, a serious look on his face.

“Seeker, bring Leliana,” he barked, outstretching his hand to Trevelyan, which she took as he pulled her up.

“Cullen, what’s going on?” Trevelyan asked, hurrying to keep up with him as he pulled her to the gates. Suddenly, the alarm bells were sounding, and the peace in Haven vanished as quickly as it had come.

“We’re under attack,” he answered, gripping her hand tightly as they met the crowd, which was mainly made up of the Chargers, a few scouts, and Josephine, knuckles white on her clipboard.

“Forces approaching,” called the watchguard.

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, frightened.

“None,” replied Cullen, releasing Trevelyan’s hand and taking the shield from his back. They all started at the sound of fierce pounding at the gates.

“I can’t help you if you don’t let me in,” came a thin voice from the outside, followed by the distinctive sound of a throat being slit. Trevelyan whipped open the door, revealing several Templar corpses and a very odd looking boy. She grabbed the boy by his slim forearm, dragging him inside and slamming the door shut behind them.

“They’ve come to hurt you,” he informed her solemnly, large eyes peering out from under a rather ridiculous hat.

“Were those Templars?” Cassandra asked, aghast, having arrived with the spymaster.

“So this is the Order’s response to the closing of the Breach? Attacking blindly?” snarled Cullen, jaw set in anger.

Ignoring them, the boy continued. “I’m Cole. I came to warn you, to help. You probably already know, they’ve come to hurt you, the Templars have come to kill you.”

“Me?” asked Trevelyan, confused, admittedly still worn out from the exertion of closing the Breach. Cole pointed out at the far cliffs, to a huge, shadowy figure with an unmasked Templar at his side.

“The Elder One,” she realized, blood running cold.

“You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

“I know that man,” Cullen exclaimed, seeing the face of the Templar. “But this Elder One…”

“Cullen, tell me what to do, give me a plan,” she pleaded, gesturing toward Cassandra. “Dorian?”

“Here, my love,” said the mage gravely, rushing to her side.

“Where’s Bull?”

“Right behind you.”

Cullen gripped Trevelyan by the shoulders. “You’ve got to get the trebuchets cleared and firing. We must hit them with everything we’ve got.” She nodded, taking the bow off of her back and signaling to her party. Bull wrenched open the gates, and they dove into the fray, followed closely by the Chargers.

“Inquisition, with the Herald, for all of us!” Cullen ordered, and his soldiers sprinted out to join them as he prepared to fight off the assailants that had nearly broken inside.

“What in the hell is  _ that _ ?” shouted Dorian, slamming the crystalline creature with a bolt of lighting.

“It has to be the red lyrium,” answered Cassandra, shattering her prey with a swing of her warhammer. Trevelyan scrambled atop a stack of crates, picking off archers as quickly as she could with her newfound high ground.

“These things don’t even seem human,” Bull called, grimacing as he tore the head off of a horror.

“Get to the north trebuchet!” hollered the scout as she quickly turned the wheel, and Trevelyan leapt down, motioning for the others to follow. They met heavy resistance, in the form of footsoldiers, horrors, and endless archers, and Trevelyan replaced her bow, pulling out her daggers. Slashing through weaknesses in plate and crystal, she threw down a smoke bomb and ran for the firing mechanism, catching the lookout by surprise and slitting his throat. Lightning arced through the smoke, bringing the Red Templars to their knees, perfectly lined up for a lunge and strike from Bull or a whirlwind from Cassandra. Trevelyan once again took out her bow, aiming for what might have once been eyes on the horrors. Once they had beaten back the following wave, Cassandra crewed the trebuchet, and the others caught their breath among the carnage.

\--------

An unearthly howl shook Trevelyan to her core.

“It can’t be,” gasped Cassandra.

A massive dragon flew above Haven, spewing waves of corruption down on it.

“Everyone to the gates!” cried Trevelyan, pulling Dorian to his feet. They ran as fast as they could, picking off what opposition they had to on the way.

“Stand back,” yelled Trevelyan at Harritt, who was trying to break down the forge door. She fired an explosive shot, and it shattered, earning her a call of thanks as she pressed on. Once again taking out her daggers, she found herself at Cullen’s side near the gate, mowing down the Templars that surrounded them. She waved him inside, Harritt and her companions following, waiting until they had made it to follow. With a yelp, she was yanked to her stomach, a downed horror clawing at her ankle. A longsword severed the limb while a strong arm lifted Trevelyan to her feet. Cullen placed himself in between her and the monster, smashing its skull in with his shield and pushing her into Haven, slamming the gate shut behind them. They all flinched as the dragon let loose another howl.

“At this point, just make them work for it,” Cullen growled sourly.

Once everyone was safely in the Chantry, Cassandra barred the door. What villagers remained, wounded or otherwise, sat on the ground, frightened into silence. Cole helped an injured Roderick into a chair.

“He’s going to die. He saved a villager from a Templar. The blade went deep.”

“What a pleasant young man,” Roderick grimaced, face pale.

“That damned dragon took back any edge you might’ve stolen for us,” Cullen said to Trevelyan, arms crossed. “Our position is not good. We have the remaining trebuchet, but to hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” declared Cole, owlish eyes again on Trevelyan. “He only wants the Herald.”

“If it will save these people, he can have me,” replied Trevelyan, but the boy shook his head.

“He’ll burn it all anyway.”

“There are no tactics to make this survivable,” Cullen said, brow deeply furrowed. “We’re dying, but we can choose how. Many don’t get that chance.”

“Wait…” breathed Roderick, holding up an arm.

“He can help. He wants to say it, before he dies,” said Cole matter-of-factly, making the Chancellor sigh once again.

“What a...charming boy. There is a mountain path---you would only know it if you had made the summer pilgramage, as I have…”

“I’m sorry, Chancellor---I was wrong about you,” Trevelyan apologized, and the old man waved a hand weakly.

“I’ve prayed---and I pray---that you are what we need,” Roderick coughed, and Cole escorted him onto a cot.

“If that thing wants me so badly, I’m going to make him fight for it. Can you get them out, Cullen?” asked Trevelyan, but his amber eyes were troubled.

“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” 

She shrugged, a bitter smile on her face.

“Perhaps you could surprise it, find a way…” he attempted, the corners of that beautiful mouth downturning. Trevelyan whistled, and Bull, Cassandra and Dorian stood, coming to her side.

“I’m bringing down the mountain. Cullen and the others are getting everyone out, and you’re going to join them. I need to make it to the trebuchet alive, but if you come with me, you  _ must go when I tell you to _ .” She looked at Dorian, who couldn’t meet her gaze. Taking his face in her hands, she gazed up at him.

“Promise me. Promise you’ll go when I tell you to. These people need your help.”

“I promise,” he said softly, looking on the verge of tears. They gathered their weapons and waited by the door.

“Well, Commander, it’s been an honor,” Trevelyan said, trying to keep her tone light. He looked at her with despair in his eyes, and came closer.

“If you---if  _ we _ are to have a chance,” he whispered, “let that thing hear you.”

“Goodbye, Cullen,” Trevelyan murmured, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his rough cheek. She kicked open the door and led her party out of the Chantry, knowing better than to look back.


	7. Chapter 7

Trevelyan’s party definitely drew attention to themselves.

Sparks flew off of Dorian as he cast wildly, staff swinging. Cassandra took a breath of concentration and ignited the lyrium in four surrounding templars, causing them to explode. And, after all, Bull couldn’t be inconspicuous on the battlefield if he tried, roaring in satisfaction as he cleaved his enemies apart.

Just as Trevelyan managed to get the final trebuchet crewed, there was a horrible cry from above, and she and her companions were knocked back.

“Go! Now!” she ordered, and Cassandra and Bull immediately made to retreat, but Dorian looked hesitant, staff still out.

“GO!” Trevelyan bellowed, and Bull swiftly approached the mage, knocked him out with a blow to the head, threw him over his shoulder, and sprinted off to the Chantry with Cassandra. As Trevelyan struggled to get to her feet, she realized she had fallen onto her bow, which had broken in half, the pieces still feebly connected by its bowstring. As the dragon and its rider landed, she stood tall, unarmed but unyielding, and waited for the monster in front of her to speak.

“Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken---no more,” spoke the Elder One in a low-pitched hiss that sent her stomach into her throat.

“Whatever you are, I am not afraid,” she replied, steadying her voice by reminding herself the others needed time to escape. The figure in front of her smirked---one side of the ruined mouth pulling painfully against the plate of crystal in his face.

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” He began to approach her, and even though every fiber within her was telling her to cower, to run, to hide, she thought of her friends and the innocents in the Chantry, and merely stood her ground with a cold gaze.

“Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the  _ will _ that is Corypheus. You will kneel,” he rasped, raising one clawlike hand to point at her.

“I will not,” she retorted firmly, bristling when he gave a dry laugh.

“I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now,” Corypheus said, revealing a strange, almost familiar orb in his other hand. There was a crackle of power, and Trevelyan felt her marked hand being moved of its own accord, pulled by his magic.

“I do not know how you survived, but what you wield, what you flail at rifts, I created to assault the very heavens,” he continued, tone deathly calm as she fell to her knees, clutching at her hand and gritting her teeth. She heard the dragon circling behind her, but kept her eyes on the Elder One, determined to show defiance.

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work...the gall,” he snarled, an edge surfacing under his arrogant demeanor. Suddenly, she felt the pull of his magic break, and he stalked towards her, picking her up by her left wrist and harshly wrenching her arm out of socket. She bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood, but refused to yield, eyes burning into his. With disturbing ease, Corypheus threw Trevelyan into the trebuchet, rage on his distorted features, and she landed with a thud, gripping her hurt shoulder with a gasp.

“The Anchor is permanent---you have spoiled it with your stumbling,” he spat, and she slid her good hand to the knife hidden in her boot. As he and his dragon approached, she stood, brandishing the knife against them and hoping, wishing,  _ praying _ that Cullen had gotten them all out by now. The Elder One continued to monologue, but she barely heard it as the blood pounded hard in her ears, waiting for the right moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small explosion.

Careful not to look toward it, she felt the adrenaline rush through her.

“...and you: I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

“If I’m dying,” Trevelyan scoffed, “it’s not today. Go fuck yourself.”

And with that, she kicked the firing mechanism and vaulted off of the trebuchet, falling into the darkness.

\----------

Cullen was still reeling from how quickly everything had gone to shit.

The Breach was closed, their most pressing issue resolved, but the moment he had basked in Trevelyan’s wild joy seemed ages away.

Now, they had lost many, they were stranded with low supplies in the Frostbacks, and Haven had gone up in flames and then down in snow.

And Evelyn was either dead or dying in the cold.

He had questioned Cassandra and Bull (Dorian was unconscious), but they had given him nothing to hope for. How could one woman defeat a talking darkspawn and an Archdemon on her own?

Then again, if he had to pick one person for whom it would be possible, it had to be the same woman that walked the Fade physically, that fell out of a rift and survived.

So, it really wasn’t a surprise when, hours later, he proposed to organize a search party.

“If you wish, but you must realize that the odds of finding her alive are…” began Leliana, delicate features grim.

“Astronomical,” Cassandra supplied. “I wish to join. Even if we only find her body, we can at least lay it to rest. Every one of us owes her our lives.”

“You are right, of course,” sighed Josephine, glancing anxiously at the encampment. “I think we’ve things handled for now, but we must move in the morning. If you haven’t found anything by then---”

“Understood,” Cullen cut in, aggravated. He walked away, followed by Cassandra, and went to recruit others for the search. Rylen and a handful of soldiers who weren’t dead on their feet volunteered, and as they made preparations, Dorian staggered over to them, a huge lump on his temple.

“I want to come,” he insisted, standing before Cullen and swaying a little. Cullen frowned at him.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“I fail to see how that is relevant,” Dorian sniffed. “If Evelyn is out there somewhere---”

“You are in no condition to go,” Cassandra pointed out, arching a scarred brow. “The last thing we need is you getting lost as well.”

“For your information, I can see three times as many torches now than I could before…”

Cullen left the two to bicker and focused on wrapping another torch. As he prepared to light it, the strange boy from the gates seemingly appeared out of nowhere, crouching by the fire.

“Cold, biting, freezing---doesn’t it feel warmer before you die? Staggering through snowdrifts, sifting through ashes---”

“Enough,” barked Cullen, unsettled. The boy gazed up at him, pale eyes inquisitive.

“Isn’t it time to go?”

Before Cullen could respond, he was gone, like he had never been there in the first place. Putting the oddity and his confusing words aside, he strode back to Cassandra, who seemed to have succeeded in talking Dorian down---the mage was unconscious once more on a cot.

“Let’s head out,” he ordered, and marched down through the valley.

It had been nearly two hours of searching, and all that could be seen was the seemingly endless expanse of white. The snow was up to Cullen’s calves, and even Cassandra was having trouble maneuvering through it. Any tracks they left were quickly filled, and the task at hand was looking more impossible by the minute.

“Anything?” he shouted once more, only to be answered with a chorus of negatives. He trudged onward, squinting in the darkness, trying not to think about how long it took someone to freeze to death in conditions like these. Especially someone whose plush lips had pressed against the hollow of his unshaven cheek not 24 hours ago, whose laugh made him brim with satisfaction, whose attention filled him with quiet pleasure.

Someone he’d promised to protect and then sent to the pyre.

Shaking his head, Cullen focused on the landscape, and thought it a mirage at first when he saw the slight figure in the distance.

_ Could it be? _

He picked up his pace, drawing near enough to catch a glimpse of that silken hair, then broke out into a sprint, the torch left behind without a thought.

“There! It’s her!” he shouted, and the others began to hurry to catch up with him. As he grew close enough to read the exhaustion on her nearly blue face, she collapsed, falling to her knees and then on her side, mahogany hair fanned out in the snow.

“Thank the Maker!” cried Cassandra as he made to carry Trevelyan, dazed with relief as he felt her shiver in his arms.

“Evelyn, can you hear me? I’m here now, everything’s going to be all right,” he breathed, walking as fast as he could without exhausting himself. There was frost on her lashes, and blood was frozen to her face, but her breath was visible in the air, and he knew that the second she was stable he was going to fall on his knees and thank the Maker for bringing her back to him.

\------

Trevelyan wasn’t sure of anything except that she was freezing.

She could hear a fire, and was definitely covered by something, but she felt the chill all the way through her bones. Also audible was the distant drone of someone arguing, but she was too tired to try and make it out. As she began to realize she was shivering, she forced her heavy eyelids open to see a hazy vision of Dorian sitting at her side, talking to someone.

“...and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes! The complete brute!”

“I see,” Trevelyan heard Solas answer wearily. She let out a huff of amusement, and suddenly both of their heads were looming over her in interest.

“You live another day,” Solas remarked, the barest hint of satisfaction on his features.

“I expect I have you to thank for that,” she croaked, and he smiled.

“No more than I you for Haven,” he reasoned, and she snorted.

“Are you all right, darling?” Dorian asked, clutching her hands in his, and she blinked sleepily at him, taking in the large bump on his head.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“It’s not my fault you associate yourself with thug oxmen,” he pouted, and she shook her head.

“If he hadn’t done it, I would have,” she said hoarsely, and he gave her a look.

“It’s not like I could just leave my best friend to face a dragon alone. I had to try,” he murmured seriously, giving her hands a squeeze.

“It’s not like  _ I _ could let my best friend kill himself in a losing battle,” she retorted, and he kissed her cheek.

“How are you feeling?” Solas asked, and Trevelyan grimaced.

“Cold and mildly dead,” she answered. Solas handed her a potion, which made her feel marginally warmer, then went off to deal with the other wounded.

“I’m still rather worried this is a dream,” Dorian admitted, looking at her like she could vanish any moment. “I’m beginning to think you really are divine.”

“Or I have divinely bad luck,” she quipped, and he put a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but surviving the impossible seems to be a trait associated with good luck.”

“Someone with good luck wouldn’t get into impossible situations,” Trevelyan sighed, sitting up a little. “Why haven’t you had that looked at?” she asked, gesturing towards the bump.

“I’m perfectly fine. There are only two of you now,” he proudly declared, and she broke into giggles, laughing into her unmarked hand.

“Oh,  _ fine _ , perhaps I’ll try and make a potion. That reminds me---the Commander has been awaiting your awakening. Quite eagerly,” Dorian mentioned with a casual air.

“Oh?” questioned Trevelyan, trying to match his tone.

“Quite. It was he who heroically found you half-dead in a snowbank, then carried you in his arms for miles to safety…” He grinned impishly. “Of course, I would have done the same, but when I insisted on going, I found myself knocked out again. Such a lovely group we have here.”

“Cullen knocked you out?” Trevelyan asked, surprised.

“No, it was the Seeker. Admittedly, it didn’t take much, but my pride is still wounded,” he groused, heading toward the entrance of the small tent. “I think I’ll go tell a certain someone that our precious dove has awakened.”

“So help me, if you use the term ‘precious dove’...”

“Oh, I certainly will,” he smirked, blowing her a kiss as he left.

\------

“And where, exactly, are you planning on taking hundreds of refugees and an armed force?” Cullen asked, annoyed.

“Perhaps the King would grant us asylum,” Josephine answered with a frown.

“Are we forgetting that he just took asylum away from the mages? Which are included in our numbers?”

“We can’t just sit here waiting for help to arrive or enemies to discover us,” snapped Josephine, clenching her clipboard.

“We don’t even know where we  _ are.  _ Shouldn’t that be the priority?”

“I have scouts working on it, but without maps, it’s a bit of a task,” Leliana said dully, a hand going to her forehead.

“We’re running out of supplies already, we don’t have enough shelter, and---”

“Sorry to disrupt the circular arguments,” interjected Dorian with a wave, “but a certain Maker-sent salvation is awake and talking.”

“The Herald? Already?” Josephine exclaimed.

“She’s made of stern stuff, that one,” Dorian announced with a pointed glance to Cullen. 

“We can continue this later,” Cullen asserted, leaving the others behind and heading for Trevelyan’s tent.

She was propped up on her cot by a number of folded gambesons, and she was visibly shivering despite the blankets that covered her small form. There was a small, obviously magical fire in the tent, and it lit up her features enough to where he could tell she was smiling the moment she saw him.

“How are---” Cullen began.

“It’s good to---” started Trevelyan at the same time. He grinned in amusement and relief as he sat in the chair next to her.

“You start, my lady.”

“I hear you were the one that found me,” she said, voice a little rough. “You have my thanks.”

“At first, I thought you couldn’t be real,” he admitted softly, taking in the curve of her jaw and the pulse at her throat and the look in her eyes and the fact that she was alive.

“I can’t remember any of it. Only that I found a few dead fires and that I was freezing.”

“Are you still cold?” he asked, concerned as he noticed her slightly shaking.

“Yes, but I’ve already used up more blankets than I should be, I’m sure others are in need of them,” Trevelyan sighed. He immediately removed the mantle from his shoulders and, despite her protests, draped it over her.

“Cullen, what about you?” she objected.

“I’m a hardy Fereldan, remember? I was bred for this weather,” he said with a grin, relaxing as he heard that laugh he enjoyed so much.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“It is I who should be thanking you,” he murmured, and her smile faded, her eyes becoming distant. 

“This...this Elder One,” Trevelyan swallowed, “this Corypheus, he’s insane. You should have heard the things he said, the  _ way _ he said them. I know we haven’t seen the last of him, and I’m afraid.”

“Evelyn, if you managed to outsmart him once before, with only yourself and a trebuchet against him and a dragon, I have complete faith in your ability to do it again, with myself and the Inquisition behind you. I…” Cullen hesitated. “I must apologize.” Trevelyan’s brow crinkled.

“You haven’t done anything you need to apologize for,” she responded, eyebrows raising as he knelt next to her.

“I swore to you that I would keep you safe from harm, and then I sent you to your death. I...I was certain that you had died for us, that the monster had killed you or you were buried with the rest of Haven. When I found you out in the snow and you were still breathing---I can’t express the relief I felt. I know you have no reason to believe me after what happened, but I refuse to let the events of Haven happen again. You have my word, and my sword, and my life.”

“Cullen,” Trevelyan murmured, raising a hand to hold his cheek, “you couldn’t have stopped me. Even if you hadn’t come up with it, I would have thought of it eventually, and there is nothing you could have done to convince me not to. You have nothing to be sorry for, and I still trust you. Implicitly.” Her thumb stroked the line of his cheekbone, and he swallowed thickly, raising his eyes to meet her gaze.

He desperately wanted to kiss her.

The softness in her eyes, the feel of her cool hand on his face, the memory of her lips pressed to his cheek---

“Actually, I fear I have to make another apology,” he said seriously. She cocked her head, raising a dark brow in suspicion.

“I apologize for hurting your lips with my rough face,” he murmured, and her hand stilled, a dazzling smile turning up her mouth.

“Mmm, it didn’t hurt. I liked it,” she whispered, and he mirrored her gesture, cupping her cheekbone with his large hand, drawing in closer----

“Herald, I was wondering if I might speak with you,” called Mother Giselle, her head poked inside the tent. Cullen hastily stood, and Trevelyan grimaced.

“Of course,” Trevelyan sighed, and the Mother entered, taking the chair at her side.

“I should be going,” Cullen managed, heat creeping across his face. “Herald. Mother.” Trevelyan gave him a weak wave as he left the tent, embarrassed yet thrilled and, despite the circumstances, he felt almost happy.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they had moved into Skyhold, Cullen had resolutely convinced himself not to act on his feelings for Trevelyan, even as they intensified with every moment he spent at her side. Whether she was jumping in front of him to take a snowball to the chest from Sera, calming down a spat between the advisors, or curiously exploring Skyhold with him, he found himself more and more lost to her.

Which was why the conversation he needed to have with her wracked him with guilt.

She had been named Inquisitor, a move that surprised no one, yet pleased everyone, and was now his superior, meaning she needed to be privy to matters he hadn’t exactly meant to hide from her, but didn’t relish the prospect of telling her, either. They had officially obtained new supply lines, meaning now was the time to bring it up, but the selfish and hesitant part of him feared the moment when she would look at him and realize he was broken.

Of course, there had always been one person who consistently derailed Cullen’s plans, and he had come to Skyhold.

Trevelyan showed up to the War Room meeting wearing cream colored leathers and a fitted crimson blouse, and he had to smile.

“No more pajamas?” Cullen asked.

“Dorian wants to personally incinerate them---he and Vivienne might duel over the rights later, but I’ve kept them for the sentiment,” she snorted. “What do you think?”

“It suits you,” he murmured, eyes roving over her body as she did a mock twirl. “You look lovely.”

“Why, thank you, Ser,” Trevelyan beamed. They both turned as the door opened to reveal Leliana and Josephine, both huddled over a missive.

“Inquisitor, Varric’s contact has arrived to speak with you. I would advise speaking with Cassandra directly after,” Leliana announced, a gleam in her eyes.

“Does she have a connection with the contact?” Trevelyan asked, intrigued.

“No, but if you hurry, you might be able to stop her from murdering Varric.”

“So it’s true,” groaned Cullen, pinching the bridge of his nose with renewed vigor. Trevelyan raised an eyebrow, quizzical.

“Any advice for me?” she asked.

“Prepare to be hit on with all the subtlety of a charging druffalo,” Josephine advised crisply.

\--------

As Trevelyan walked the battlements on her way to meet Skyhold’s newest addition, she took the long route that would go through Cullen’s office. He had seemed less than enthused about their visitor, and she wanted to make him smile, see the trenches on his brow break. Finding his door already open, she poked her head in.

“Hey, you,” Trevelyan called, coming through the doorway. Cullen immediately stood, looking surprised.

“Inquisitor,” he greeted, clearing his throat. “What brings you this way?”

“Seeking some moral support before my cloak and dagger meeting on the very visible battlements,” she replied with a sheepish smile. He shifted, looking uncomfortable, and she frowned.

“Is something the matter? Is this a bad time?” she asked, concerned.

“No, not at all, there’s---I just need to speak with you about something, when you have the time. Later.”

“We can do it now. I don’t mind making him wait another half hour.”

“No, it’s not that urgent, it’s just a briefing.”

“Are you sure? I’d rather talk with you than him, anyway,” Trevelyan insisted, noticing how tense Cullen had become.

“I’m certain,” he said with a strained smile. “Until later, Inquisitor.”

“Until later,” she echoed, leaving his office in bewilderment.

_ This does not bode well. _

What briefing could have him so restless? And why hadn’t he given it to her this morning, with the rest?

As much as she wanted to blow off Hawke a little longer to think, she’d already left him waiting for a while, so she tried to shake the stiffness of Cullen’s words from her mind and made her way to him.

Trevelyan didn’t know what she had expected, but Hawke definitely differed. The staff on his back declared him a mage, but he was larger than most of the slight (yet strong) mages that she knew.

_ Once Dorian sees how muscular he is, he’s going to want to either fuck him or kill him. _

He had the bronze skin of someone who had spent hours in the full Kirkwall sun, with a tattooed slash of red over the sharp bridge of his nose. His hair and short beard were midnight black, and his eyes were the peculiar pale blue of the hottest part of a flame.

_ Definitely fuck him. _

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” Trevelyan said with a wink to Varric.

“I could still talk his ear off for about three more hours, if you have other matters to attend,” chuckled Varric. “Inquisitor, may I present Jason Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“I don’t use that title much anymore,” the man before her rumbled, giving Varric a weary glance. “Though you can call me whatever you like, Your Grace.” He held out his gauntleted hand, and when she placed hers in it, he knelt, rolling back the edge of her sleeve to press his lips to the pulse at her wrist.

She was almost impressed.

“Trevelyan,” she told him, unaffected except for a quirk at the side of her lips. He stood, relinquishing her hand, and Varric rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

“As impressed as I was by what I’d heard of you, I’m even more enamored with the real thing,” Hawke remarked.

“Oh? And what have you heard?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Varric.

“Only good things, I promise.”

\--------------

When Cullen got up to close his office door some time after Trevelyan had left, he made the mistake of glancing at her and Hawke, yards away.

As usual, she seemed taller than her stature, especially since Hawke was kneeling in front of her, appearing to kiss her hand. Cullen could almost hear the sarcasm that must have been running through Varric’s head, but Trevelyan seemed amused, at the very least.

He shut the door firmly behind him, returning to his desk to sort through his missives.

Which were sitting next to the box.

Ignoring the box for the time being, he sat down and forced his shaking hands to write.

The time passed in a muddy haze, and in what seemed an enormously long yet incredibly short period of time, he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, knowing full well who it was. He hurriedly reviewed what he had been meaning to say, but forgot all of it once she came in, her expression difficult to read.

“Commander?” Trevelyan asked, serious eyes on his.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen sighed, standing, unable to hold her gaze, his eyes sliding to the box. “Now that...as leader of the Inquisition, you...there is something I must tell you,” he stammered, forcing himself to look at her.

“You can tell me anything.” Her voice was even, and it grounded him.

“Thank you. I---what do you know of lyrium?” She took the seat in front of his desk, and he sank back into his chair.

“Not much. I’ve seen Dorian and Vivienne take it sometimes. I know Templars take it, too, but Cassandra doesn’t have to, as a Seeker.”

“You’re correct. For Templars, lyrium grants us our abilities, or at least enhances them. It also allows the Chantry control over us, as it’s addictive. Those cut off suffer---some go mad, others die.”

“Do we have enough for our Templars?” she questioned, concern knitting her brows closer.

“Yes, we’ve established supply lines,” reassured Cullen, swallowing in apprehension. “But I...no longer take it.”

Those stormy eyes pierced his, and he knew she had already connected the dots.

“How long?” Trevelyan asked, the timbre of her voice lower than he had ever heard it.

“Since I joined the Inquisition,” Cullen admitted quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her lips were pressed together, and there was hurt in her eyes.

“I should have,” he said hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Even so, you had already caught on that something was wrong, and I---I didn’t want to worry you any more than I had.”

“The headaches, the insomnia…apparently I should’ve been even more concerned than I was.” She knotted her fingers together and rested her chin on them, mouth set. “Wait. You said...you said this could  _ kill _ you?”

“It hasn’t yet.”

“Cullen,” Trevelyan began, voice tight.

“Cassandra is keeping an eye on me: if I fail to do my duties, she will install a replacement. I will not let this affect the Inquisition---I swear it.”

“Does it hurt?” she murmured, brow creased.

“I can endure it,” he answered, voice thankfully steady.

“That’s not what I asked.” She got up, placing both hands on the desk and leaning on them. Cullen looked up at her, then sighed.

“Headaches, mostly. Some body aches.”

“What else?”

“Nausea. Tremors, rarely. Loss of appetite, trouble sleeping. Nightmares.”

She raised her left hand to her face and tugged at the index finger of her glove with her teeth, pulling it off and raising her bare hand to his forehead. It was ice cold, and he failed to suppress a sigh of relief at her touch.

“I think you have a fever,” Trevelyan noted, shrinking her hand back at the noise he made. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” he answered, and she replaced it, calming the thudding pulse in his temples.

“Dorian does this thing that makes eternal ice,” she mentioned. “I’ll get you some before the next time I leave.”

“I would prefer it if---”

“I’ll tell him it’s for me,” she cut in, already knowing what he was going to say. She took back her hand, pulling on the glove, and though he wished for it back, his headache had improved a little.

“I respect what you’re doing, and I’ll support you however I can,” said Trevelyan.

“Really?” he asked, surprised. She gave him a pointed look in answer.

“Just promise me something,” she began, taking his hand in her small one. “If you’re hurting or nauseous or you can’t sleep, don’t hesitate to come get me, all right? I haven’t forgotten all the times you’ve found me in the snow.”

He wondered if she remembered how close he had come to kissing her sore in that tent in the Frostbacks.

“As long as it’s no trouble.”

“Cullen, out of the two of us, I think we can both agree that I’m the troublemaker,” she teased.

“You have me there,” he admitted, and felt a crooked smile coming on despite himself. He gently squeezed her hand, and the sparkle in her eyes made him dizzy with relief and raw affection. “Thank you---for understanding, and, well, everything else.”

“Of course,” she murmured, and he was all too aware of the desk between them. She started to say something, but was interrupted.

“Commander!” declared a scout, report in hand. Cullen stared at him, mildly amazed.

“Do they not knock on closed doors wherever you’re from?” he barked, and the man flushed, eyes landing on Trevelyan’s fingers in his. Cullen abruptly pulled his hand back and stood, taking the report as Trevelyan leaned her back against the desk.

“Right, sir. Sorry, sir!”

“You’re dismissed,” he ordered gruffly, and the scout anxiously exited his office, closing the door behind them. Cullen handed the report to Trevelyan.

“It’s for me?” she asked, surprised.

“Leliana is omniscient,” he sighed, and she gave him a lopsided grin. Her cheeks were a little darker than normal, and she was toying with a loose strand of hair.

“I’ve got to go talk routes in Crestwood with Hawke and Leliana,” she sighed. “See you at dinner?”

“Maker willing,” he joked, and she gave a little huff of amusement as she left.


	9. Chapter 9

Though she was due to leave for Crestwood after Hawke in less than a week, Trevelyan spent most of the remaining time she had left at Skyhold sharing a chair in the library with Dorian, reading about lyrium. At first, he badgered her about it, curious, but relented when she explained.

“Some things aren’t mine to tell,” she murmured, nose in a dusty tome and legs thrown over the mage’s lap.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Dorian sighed, eyes faraway. “Don’t get too comfortable. I have a chess match with the Commander in half an hour.” She groaned, sliding further into his lap, and he patted her on the head.

“Do you know how difficult it’ll be to get out of this position?”

“Easier than some others I can think of,” he said primly, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re incorrigible. At least you’re getting Cullen out of his office and breathing some fresh air.”

“We’re in the mountains, darling. All of the air is fresh. Though he is a surprisingly good opponent.”

“I may have to stop by and divest you of any hidden pieces,” snickered Trevelyan, and Dorian gave an evasive gasp.

“Just because I _ happened _ to misplace a few once…”

“Whatever you say.”

\--------

“Gloat all you like,” Cullen declared. “I have this one.”

“Such newfound confidence! I’d hold onto it while you can,” taunted Dorian, one tanned hand coming up to pull at his moustache. Despite the fact that some of the chess pieces had mysteriously vanished, the board didn’t lie, and Cullen had the advantage. Tenting his fingers, Cullen waited for Dorian’s next move, only to look up at a long suffering sigh from the mage.

“I hope you two are playing nice.”

“Inquisitor,” he greeted, standing even as she waved him down.

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” asked Dorian with a hint of glee.

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Trevelyan grinned, her hand coming to rest briefly on Cullen’s shoulder as he sat back down. He swallowed hard, and the mage playfully raised an eyebrow at him.

“Darling, you’ve arrived just in time to witness my devastating victory over your Commander,” Dorian announced, making his move as he batted his eyelashes at Trevelyan.

“Really?” answered Cullen as he moved to checkmate. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.” Dorian’s jaw dropped as he examined the board in disbelief.

“Don’t get smug,” he sniffed. “There will be no living with you.” Cullen grinned widely, stretching his arms behind his head.

“You’d likely do better if you focused on actually playing instead of sneakily hiding random pieces,” Trevelyan suggested, slipping her hand into the inside breast pocket of Dorian’s robes and pulling out a handful.

“There should be one more,” added Cullen, and she gave Dorian an expectant look.

“Fine, fine,” the mage simpered, producing the last piece and standing. “I’m off to drown my sorrows. The next victory shall be mine…”

“I suppose I should return to my duties,” said Cullen as they watched Dorian stalk to the tavern. “Unless you would care for a game?”

“Prepare the board, Commander,” ordered Trevelyan with mock seriousness, and he laughed as she sat opposite him. “I should warn you that I have very little chess experience. You’re definitely going to destroy me.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll catch on quickly.”

The game certainly wasn’t as competitive as the ones between him and Dorian---it was mostly an excuse for them to converse as he gently redirected her hand with his when she was about to make a risky move. He told her about his siblings, and she listened aptly, the small smile on her face making his heart pound harder. Before he knew it, they had nearly finished the game, and he found himself trying to draw it out as long as possible to make the moment last.

“I think this is the longest we’ve ever talked about something other than the Inquisition,” remarked Trevelyan as she turned a piece over in her hands. “I’m enjoying it.”

“As am I,” he admitted, and he was rewarded with one of the crooked grins he craved almost as much as the lyrium. “We should do this more often.”

“I would like that,” she replied earnestly, smile growing wider.

“Me too.”

“You said that,” she laughed softly, and he tried not to blush, shaking his head. “We should...finish the game.”

“Yes,” he said lamely, but felt so oddly light and happy that he didn’t even regret it. They made a few moves, and Trevelyan’s face gradually became more thoughtful.

“Cullen?” she asked, eyes on the board.

“Hmm?”

“Did you...leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?”

_ Was she asking what he thought she was? _

“Well---no,” he began, willing himself not to stammer. “I...made few friends there. There’s not, ah, anyone.”

“No one special caught your interest?” She was still looking at the same spot on the chessboard.

“Not in Kirkwall,” Cullen said, voice steady and eyes on her face. She slowly slid her eyes upward, and the look on her face put his heart in his throat and his pulse in his hands. He watched as she succeeded in checkmating him, and shook his head, grinning.

“I believe this one is yours.”


	10. Chapter 10

Only a day remained until Trevelyan and her party were to set out to Crestwood, and she found herself reluctant to leave Skyhold and her newfound, ragtag family behind. She mentioned as much to Dorian, who pointed out that their soldiers had just built the sparring ring she had requisitioned and they were currently training near it.

“How did you even remember that? I had completely forgotten about it, and I haven’t gotten a report yet.”

“Evie, I make it my business to be aware of events involving well-muscled men lifting things. Don’t you? Hmm,” Dorian sighed, peering out of the window. “I don’t see the Commander down there with them…”

“He’s in a meeting with Leliana,” said Trevelyan, trying to ignore the strange nervousness she had developed over Cullen recently. She cherished their time together, embarrassingly so, and she was even more drawn to him now that she knew about his decision regarding the lyrium. His brave, stupid decision. Part of her wanted to rub circles into his temples every time she saw his brow was knit with a headache, to hold her cold hand to the back of his neck when he was sweating in the drafty war room, to kiss that scar on his lips until all of his overworked muscles became relaxed and pliant under her hands.

However, she was making a point of overlooking that part for the time being, putting it on the back burner until she would be removed from the situation and could consider it objectively. As strong and, frankly, scary as her feelings for Cullen were, she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. There had been times that made her suspect he did, followed by those that cemented their current friendship, and the world was ending and they both were stretched far too thin and Trevelyan thought she must be the most selfish savior in history to be so concerned with this when she should be keeping Thedas from being annihilated and/or swallowed into the sky.

“Such a shame,” Dorian mentioned, pulling her back from her spiraling thoughts and making his eyes as doelike as possible. “Of course, that does mean all those strapping gentlemen are unattended down there. And ladies, too, of course.”

“Mmm, Rylen’s supervising,” she said, pressing her face up to the window besides Dorian. “Wait. You may be a genius.”

“Of  _ course _ I’m a genius,” gasped Dorian in mock offense.

“We should go spar with them. It’ll give them some relief from the drills, and what better way to break in the ring?”

“As much as I support the idea of a better view, I doubt the Commander would support his precious soldiers  _ having fun _ .”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Go get the others, if they’re interested---I’ll talk to Rylen,” Trevelyan grinned.

“Might I suggest you spar with Bull at some point? Either of you would look just as lovely with your asses kicked into the dirt.”

“Fine. I hope you’ve been practicing your necromancy.”

Within twenty minutes, a sizeable crowd of people had surrounded the ring, and makeshift stands were built in another fifteen and the creative use of magic. Most of the soldiers elected to watch instead of fight, but a few had asked for specific pairings, and Varric was already taking bets. Once a rough schedule had been prepared, Trevelyan climbed on top of the fence of the ring and waved her arms, and the crowd went (relatively) silent.

“Good people of Skyhold,” she began, and they let out a whooping cheer that she prayed wasn’t audible from the war room, “we gather here today, in the ring you built, to celebrate what we have become! I could ask for no better community---no finer people. Without further ado, please enjoy Knight-Captain Rylen kicking my ass!” She jumped down from the fence to the sound of uproarious laughter and applause, and she gave a deep bow, eliciting a whistle from Dorian.

“The Commander is going to have a bronto when he sees this,” Rylen sighed, shaking his head as they gathered their weapons. “I’m going to be sent to the ass end of Orlais.”

“Not unless you decide you  _ want  _ to be sent to the ass end of Orlais,” teased Trevelyan, spinning the daggers in her hands. “I’ll use an executive override. Besides, I’m the guilty party here---the blame is all mine.” 

“All the better, for you may well be the only person he’d let off the hook for this, Your Grace.”

“Don’t hold back. I’m getting Solas some kind of rare elfroot in exchange for being our standby healer.”

“Whatever you say, Inquisitor.”

A whoop went up as Harding declared the match started, and Trevelyan and Rylen began to circle the ring, one armed with daggers, the other with sword and shield. Rylen gave an experimental lunge, and Trevelyan rolled easily out of the way, swiping at his flank but only hitting shield. They separated again, weapons primed as each one waited for the other to make a move. Again, Rylen acted first, moving for a shield bash, and again, Trevelyan evaded, managing to score the first hit---a bruising slash to Rylen’s kidney. Even though their weapons were dulled for training, she had hit him hard, but he managed to swat her away, and she leapt backwards to avoid his reach.

“That was a good one,” he coughed, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Rylen, I just hit you, stop being nice to me!”

He caught her with a feint and gave a stunning slice to her thigh.

“That’s more like it,” she huffed, eyes watering, and he inclined his head, laughing.

Ready to play dirty now, she hurled one of her daggers at his face, correctly expecting him to easily block it with his shield, then dropped to a crouch and used the pommel of her dagger to collapse his right knee, sending him sprawling to the ground, unbalanced. Before he could right himself, rolling onto his back, she held her other dagger to his throat, and he dropped his weapons, yielding.

“One more,” Trevelyan reminded him, panting merrily as they gathered their weapons and waited for the signal to begin again. The chase started anew, their footwork mirroring each other’s, but Trevelyan caught sight of what Rylen had his back turned to---the Commander, walking down from the battlements with his arms crossed. Distracted, she failed to react in time, and what Rylen had intended to be a shield bash to the torso and a slash to the waist ended up being a bash to the face and his sword catching only air.

\------------

Cullen had already been tried by the events of the day.

A meeting with Leliana that was supposed to be about Venatori troop movements had actually been a trap to get him to listen to “what was expected of him” at Halamshiral. Josephine had ambushed him, and he was stuck talking about  _ nobles  _ and  _ Orlesians _ and  _ wardrobe _ and  _ courtesy _ for the better part of two hours, as if he were a tempestuous child needing to be taught manners. Which, if he was being honest, was how the upcoming ball made him feel. As he pinched the bridge of his nose while Josephine prattled on about proposals and invitations and all manner of pointless things, they were distracted by a tremendous racket from the courtyard.

“What was  _ that _ ?” asked Josephine, perplexed.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” Leliana replied serenely from the corner of the room, enthralled by the latest intercepted coding from Minrathous.

Taking the spymaster’s word for it, Josephine continued to ply him with mind-numbingly unimportant trivia about the Winter Palace, and eventually he could take no more.

“Forgive me, Josephine, but I must go. Rylen was expecting me over an hour ago,” he lied desperately, and she reluctantly set him free with the promise to “continue the discussion later”. As he made his way down to the courtyard, he heard another, more muffled noise, and began to move faster with suspicion, exiting the main hall to find what appeared to be all of Skyhold in a circle around the training ring.

Naturally, Trevelyan was at the center.

When he approached, he thought he might have seen her ice-colored gaze flicker to him, and though she moved gracefully, there was a sickening crunch as Rylen caught her in the face with his shield.

She backed away, dazed as she held the back of her fist to her profusely bleeding nose. Rylen made as if to help her, but she advanced on him, daggers out.

“Shield up, Knight-Captain,” he barely heard her say thickly over the commotion of the crowd, and the title brought up a swirl of memories that he forced back down as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Rylen had complied, and they were at it again, blood dripping from Trevelyan’s chin and splattering onto the dirt. Cullen made to intervene, but was stopped by Dorian’s hand to his shoulder. 

“She’s fine,” the mage assured him with a wink. “Let her get him.”

And get him she did. In the time Cullen had spent looking away from the fight, she had somehow managed to prize Rylen’s shield away and throw it, dodging the sweep of his sword to put a dagger to the artery at his leg. Harding named her the winner, and Cullen found himself clapping with the others, shaking his head. Holding a hand to her nose, Trevelyan pulled herself up to stand on the fence.

“NOBODY is telling Josephine about this!” she threatened, and came down to meet him amidst howls of laughter. Rylen followed, looking quite guilty.

“Inquisitor, I---”

“Don’t apologize, Rylen, you were perfect,” Trevelyan assured, clapping him on the back. “Put some money on Krem for me, will you? Blackwall doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” he grinned sheepishly, and left to get Varric’s attention.

“Inquisitor…” began Cullen sternly, but was distracted by a fresh downpour of blood onto her armor.

“That is definitely broken,” said Dorian with mild disgust, handing her a silk handkerchief. “Why don’t you and the Commander here go see Solas, and I’ll keep your spot warm?” he offered with a shit-eating grin.

Without further ado, Cullen found himself accompanying Trevelyan on the long walk to the rotunda, still wondering if he should chastise her or tell her he was proud of her.

“You’ve got Rylen trained well with that shield,” she quipped, voice rather muffled.

“Does it hurt?” he couldn’t help but ask, and she shook her head.

“Stings like all hell, but I’ll be fine. I’ve never broken my nose before.” He motioned for her to move the handkerchief, and she did, revealing an absolutely broken nose complete with purple smears developing under her eyes.

“Damn,” he swore, and she replaced the handkerchief with a pained wince.

“Do I look badass?” Trevelyan asked, eyes narrowing playfully, and he laughed.

“Yes,” Cullen replied truthfully. “I’ve broken my nose a few times. It’s rather unpleasant.”

“I know you have,” she said, voice strained as they took the stairs up to the hall.

“How? Don’t tell me it was in my file,” he muttered, surprised.

“You have a little---” she motioned toward the bridge of his nose, but both of her gloves were sticky with blood. “It’s like a scar in the bone.”

“Really?” he asked, feeling self-conscious.

“Don’t make that face,” she sighed, shaking her head, and he flushed, unaware that he had been making one in the first place. “It’s hardly noticeable, and it’s not a bad thing.”

“The  _ scar _ in my bone isn’t a bad thing?”

“Well, I like it.” They paused outside of the doorway to the rotunda, and as she looked up at him, Cullen was not at all surprised that she was just as beautiful splattered in blood with a handkerchief clamped to her nose. “It’s...badass.”

Luckily, before he couldn’t stop himself from backing her up against the rotunda wall and kissing the bruises under her eyes in wonder, Solas appeared, looking not at all fazed by Trevelyan’s appearance.

“I hope you still won. I do love taking money from Varric.”

“Varric had money on Rylen winning?” asked Trevelyan, agape. The apostate just gave one of his rare smiles, discarding the handkerchief and carefully placing his long fingers on either side of her nose.

“I got him, but just barely. Mmm, that feels odd,” she said, wrinkling her nose as the gentle hum of magic permeated the room.

“Good as new,” Solas announced, handing her a damp cloth for the partially dried blood that clung to her. Trevelyan yanked off her gloves, sticking them in her back pocket as she dabbed at her face.

“You have my thanks. And Harding was supposed to have dropped off maps marking your fancy elfroot to my quarters, would you like to see them?”

“You can bring them to me in the courtyard. I have a feeling I’ll be further needed there, unless the Commander plans on interfering with the goings-on,” Solas said questioningly, looking at Cullen for the first time.

“I...shall allow it. This once,” Cullen sighed, and Solas chuckled as Trevelyan excitedly clapped him on the back. “Next time, there will need to be planning.”

“Did you hear that? He said  _ next time _ ,” grinned Trevelyan.

“I’ll have to make a list of herbs I’m in need of.”

They parted soon after, and Cullen realized he was following Trevelyan to her quarters, heat flooding his face.

“I should probably---”

“You’re free to come with me, if you want. I think your ice is on my desk,” she offered, still blindly trying to clean her face with the rag. “Have I gotten the blood off?” He looked at her slightly less stained face and neck.

“Well…” he began, and she made a face.

“Come on in,” she insisted, propping the door open with her leg. “I may need your help getting presentable.”

And so he followed her up the stairs, the gentle sway of her hips and shoulders in the center of his view, and, when the part of his mind that was getting harder and harder to ignore pointed out that they were truly alone, separated from all of Skyhold by a closed door, he tried to remember why he shouldn’t let his instincts run wild and act on how much he cared for her.

Predictably, the room was enormous, spacious even with a sizeable desk, bed, and couch, along with a large marble bathtub and a balcony. As Trevelyan approached the desk (which was piled with missives), he continued to look around.

Near the bed, which was covered in what appeared to be light blue silk, a fireplace (presumably magical) crackled pleasantly. On either side of the bed was a table, one covered in books, the other with an active chessboard. A mahogany wardrobe was pushed to one side of the wall, and some small tables and armchairs were on the balcony and near the fireplace. The balcony itself had quite pretty stained glass windows at least twice his height---the doors were open, making the dark velvet curtains ripple softly from the breeze.

“You’ve been practicing,” Cullen remarked, an uncontrollable grin taking over his face at the sight of the chessboard.

“I have,” Trevelyan said mock-solemnly. “One of these days, Commander, I am going to absolutely destroy you.” She was sifting through reports, deft fingers sliding through parchment.

“I have no doubt of that,” he answered, coming to her side. “Maker’s breath, how many of these do you have?”

“Real ones? Probably about thirty. The rest are...extras. Courtesy of Sera,” she sighed. “Here we go. Royal elfroot in the Hinterlands. I might get to see Solas smile twice in one day.” She placed the proper report on top of the others, then opened the top drawer of her desk, hunting through various objects.

“Cole keeps giving me things to ‘keep safe’...I must have seven daggers in here...here we go. Some everlasting ice, as requested.” She proffered a block wrapped in another of Dorian’s silken handkerchiefs.

“You have my thanks,” Cullen murmured. She shut the drawer with a click, then sat on the edge of the desk near where he stood, dwarfed less by the added height.

“How have you been feeling?” she asked quietly, and he took the cloth Solas had given her off of the desk.

“May I?”

“Please.”

While he thought of what to say, he took off his gloves, then began to gently make passes over the dried blood on her face with the cloth.

“It comes and goes. I have good days. Nights can be worse,” he admitted, tracing where her sharp jawline met the point of her chin. He slowed as he dabbed at the tender skin of her lips, and it may have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw her pupils blow, swallowing up some of the stone-grey iris.

“Nightmares?” 

“Yes. They aggravate the rest of it.” He continued to clean her up, hand unconsciously coming up to brush back her hair so he could get at the splatter on the curve of her neck. She didn’t flinch when his skin brushed hers, so he carefully tilted her head, the feel of her skin smoother than ice.

“What helps the nightmares?” Her voice was rough. Cullen paused, considering.

“Not sleeping?”

“ _ Seriously _ ,” she sighed, and he smiled crookedly.

“I don’t know. Nothing so far.” He examined the length of her neck, removing the occasional splotch of crimson on ivory, and finished with a stroke to the carved indent of her collarbone.

“What if someone woke you up when they got bad?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Someone?”

Her expression didn’t waver.

“Do you remember what happened after Redcliffe?” Trevelyan asked, swallowing hard.

“Of course I do.”

“You stayed with me. You kept me sane. I want to do that for you.”

His brow creased.

“Evelyn---”

“Please, Cullen. I have a giant couch and a bed that could easily fit four. You’re welcome to either, and I can take the other. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep reading on that couch.”

“I can’t---you need your rest---” he stammered while the still rational part of his brain struggled to maintain control over the situation.

“I haven’t been sleeping well either. After so long of being shoved into a tent with Dorian or Sera, it’s eerie being in this huge room alone.” 

“Evelyn, people will talk.” Her face fell, and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“You’re right,” she conceded quietly, hopping off of the desk, and he struggled to find the words to repair the situation, which was increasingly difficult as the part of him that was always thinking of her became louder and louder.

_ I don’t want to be a burden to you because I care so deeply for you. _

_ I can’t think of anything better than spending as little time apart from you as I possibly can, even if it means you see what a mess I am. _

_ But I can’t tell you any of this, it cannot be, because you are perfect and unbroken where I am stained and shattered, because if these fools see me any more attached to your hip it would hurt you, and I would rather take lyrium until the day I die than see you hurt because of me. _

_ And even though I’m completely, hopelessly yours, I cannot make any more of you mine, because everything I touch turns to ashes. _

“Would you do it for me?”

She stood in front of him, arms crossed, having found the lethal point in him yet again. He fumbled for an answer, not meeting her eyes.

“Don’t lie. If the situation was reversed, would you do it for me?”

“I...without hesitation.” He couldn’t stop the truth even if he tried. She stepped closer to him, chin raised. His pulse skyrocketed as she took his hand in both of hers, and he wondered if her delicate fingers could feel the way it strained in his veins for her.

“If you’re worried about people seeing, there’s a secret entrance Dorian found that leads to the wine cellar. You enter the kitchen from over by the stables, go into the cellar, go up the stairs, and you’ll end up in Josephine’s office. There’s a hallway that connects to this room. You could also just go through Josephine’s office, but I figured you’d want the most covert way. No half measures for my Commander.” As Trevelyan spoke, she slid his gloves onto his hands, tucking the ends into his gauntlets with her fingertips. “You don’t have to give me an answer, and I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just---” she paused, hand still around his wrist, chewing on her lip “---I want you to know I’m here for you. And I’ve only experienced a fraction of what you’re going through, but I want to protect you from it. If I can. Does that make sense? I think my thoughts were a bit more coherent.”

_ Her Commander. _

_ I am so fucked. _

“You don’t have to be coherent with me. Maker knows what verbal finesse I have,” he joked, and she laughed, her eyes a joyful storm. Dropping his hand, she went to pick up the maps for Solas, and he grabbed his enchanted ice.

“I’m going to watch our friends get their asses kicked by each other, and I know they’d be delighted if you came. We can stop by your office to drop off the ice first, if you’re interested. I may or may not be taking on Bull later,” Trevelyan grinned.

“I suppose there’s no harm in some indulgement,” he sighed, and she absolutely beamed, as he knew she would.

“Hopefully no one will tell Josephine about the nose incident. I can already hear the lecture. ‘The Orlesians will be completely unable to see you as anything but a Marcher upstart if even a fraction of your face is somewhat squished!’”

“They won’t,” Cullen promised, chuckling at her imitation. “They love you.”

“I’m quite fond of them, too,” Trevelyan murmured, “I’m lucky.”

“I think we’re the lucky ones,” he replied softly, and the look in her eyes made him ache. “Speaking of nose incidents, you never showed me my bone scar,” he blurted, hastily changing the subject. She tucked the report under her arm with a chuckle and reached for his face, stretching. He savored the feel of her cool hands on his face as she gently tipped it downward, the tips of her fingers on the bridge of his nose.

“...right there,” she exclaimed, stroking a small indent on the left of the slimmest part of his nose. He raised his empty hand, and she guided his gloved fingers to feel for it.

“That is...kind of terrifying,” he remarked, and she laughed. “I’ve never noticed that before.”

“I suppose you’ve never noticed  _ this _ before, either?” Trevelyan teased, lightly tracing the scar on his mouth.

_ So. Fucked. _

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cullen deadpanned, unable to keep a straight face when Trevelyan gave a surprised cackle of delight.


	11. Chapter 11

_ “In _the lake?” Dorian repeated while Trevelyan rubbed tiredly at her rain-dampened forehead. 

“Last time I checked, yes,” Harding confirmed, barely batting an eye at the downpour or the phenomenon. “Hope you’re not squeamish about undead, Your Worship.”

“I’m not, but doesn’t anyone in Ferelden _ burn _ their dead?” sighed Trevelyan, eliciting a bark of a laugh from the Iron Bull.

“I’m certainly going to start,” Harding quipped grimly, eyes on a corpse shuffling out of the water several hundred meters away. “Good luck, Your Worship---and please, be careful.”

“If my favorite scout orders it, it shall be done,” Trevelyan replied dramatically, and the party could hear Harding’s chuckles as they made for Crestwood’s gates.

“If I happen to die, I want you all to personally roast me to a crisp. Or ashes. Really, just find the nearest dragon and lob my corpse at it,” said Trevelyan, wrinkling her nose at the white bloat of the conquered undead on the side of the path.

“Not all dragons breathe fire, Inquisitor, but I will endeavor to fulfill your wish,” answered Solas, who was untouched by the pouring rain.

“_ If _ you happen to die, I’ll have to become some kind of Mortalitasi and keep you in a crypt so you can shamble about forever,” Dorian interjected. “That way we can still get drunk and whine about our problems together, and I won’t perish of gloom.”

“How are you planning on getting my undead corpse drunk, exactly?”

“Hmmm. Maybe a spray bottle?”

“Boss, if you ever die and Dorian goes through with his plan, me and the Chargers will come get you and throw you into a volcano in Par Vollen. Promise.”

“Thank the Maker for that. Sounds like I’ll be well taken care of,” snickered Trevelyan, taking her bow off of her back as several corpses shuffled out of the water and onto the beach edge in front of them. 

\----------

“Am I correct in deriving that the Mayor seems...shifty?” Trevelyan inquired as they approached Caer Bronach.

“Oh, he’s definitely cheating on his wife,” Bull said conversationally. “Probably has a few bastards in Denerim.”

The party looked up at the Qunari in sync.

“What? Ben-Hassrath. I can’t help it.”

“Well, he’s for sure an asshole then, but I meant specifically about the lake…”

“Oh, yeah. Totally hiding something.”

“As bizarre as your priorities are, I’m more interested in how many bandits we expect to find in the fort,” Dorian pointed out.

“I don’t think that man would try and mobilize forces against even five, but it’s safe to expect at least fifteen,” Solas answered pragmatically.

“Shall we knock, then?” Trevelyan asked, selecting an explosive arrow from her quiver.

“Please,” answered Dorian primly, already sheathed in lightning.

It didn’t take long before Harding and most of her scouts were stationed in the newly captured fort and a report was on the way to the Inquisition’s advisors.

“Anything to add before I send this off, Inquisitor?” 

Trevelyan looked up from helping Solas wrap a bandage around the Iron Bull’s torso.

“Mind filling in a little?” she asked Dorian, who was contemplatively gazing at the Qunari.

“I suppose not…”

After handing off her end of the linen, Trevelyan hopped off of the table she had been using to reach Bull’s shoulder and took the clipboard from Harding with a grin.

“Actually, do you have any extra parchment? I’ve a note to write.”

\----------

The nightmares were getting worse.

They typically began with him searching the Templar wing of the Gallows in Kirkwall for something (or maybe someone) he couldn’t quite remember. As he went from room to room, snow began to fall, lightly dusting his surroundings. He quickly became more and more worried when he had the distinct feeling that, if he couldn’t find what he was looking for soon, it would be lost in the snow, out of his reach forever. 

The door to the courtyard opened, but led to Meredith’s office, which wasn’t quite right, and the snow started falling harder. She was saying something, that unnerving look on her face, but he wasn’t listening, searching the room instead. He caught a glimpse of movement below her desk, and immediately pushed it away from her, getting on his hands and knees in the snow that now surpassed his ankles.

_ What have you done? _

He demanded an answer as he started digging, steel gauntlets sifting. There was no end to the snow drift, and he looked up at Meredith in a mixture of frustration and fear.

_ You should know, _ she said sternly.  _ You were right there with me the whole time. _

The Knight-Captain knelt in the snow, consumed with dread as his gaze slid back down to the snowdrift.

There was a single drop of fresh blood on it.

He began to dig anew, revealing more and more blood under the surface, until it cloaked his arms in crimson all the way up to the elbows and pooled around his knees, and as he turned to Meredith at the metallic sound of her laughter, he saw only a red statue.

Scrambling away from her, he backed into the wall and was stunned by a flood of electricity, his vision going black while his jaw clacked around in his mouth.

“I don’t think the boy Templar has had enough yet.”

He opened his eyes and he was back in the Tower again.

_ No. _

A barrier of electricity surrounded him, the occasional arc sparking against his Templar armor and bringing forth the smell of singed flesh. There was no way he could avoid the random shocks, and Maker help him if they knocked him back into the cage walls.

_ This isn’t happening. This is not happening. _

“But it is happening,” stretched Mia’s mouth around distorted words. “You thought you’d be a  _ knight _ and a  _ hero _ and finally protect me, protect our family, keep people safe. Do you feel like a hero right now?”

_ Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look _

“Come, little brother, baby brother, look at me, tell me what you feel like? Oh, the wrath of the Templars is heinous indeed!”

_ Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter _

“Don’t you feel powerful? Don’t you feel  _ strong _ ?”

_ Blessed are the peacekeepers _

“Keep on praying! Maybe you’ll get an answer this time.”

_ The champions of the--- _

“We make quite the pair, you and me,” said a different, painfully hoarse voice, and his head shot up.

Mia’s mouth was still moving, despite her head not being on her shoulders. The mangled bodies of his parents laid beneath her seated body, all of them covered in electrical burns, and the blade of a staff had been driven through one of her eyes.

And there, holding her head in shaky hands, was Raleigh Samson.

“I am nothing like you,” he tried to say, to scream, but no noise came from his mouth.

“I see your hands trembling, Rutherford, and I know it ain’t from nerves. Don’t you want some so badly? Anything to give that edge back, that  _ control _ . Without it, you’re just another beggar sweating in the dead of winter. You can’t even get rid of that barrier, and this time it’s not just because you don’t know how. It’s because you’re weak.”

“I won’t take it,” he again tried to answer, but he felt like he was choking, and could produce only silence.

“I remember you talking about your brothers---how you hadn’t seen them in years. A shame, that. Why don’t you show them how tough you are? Show em’ your superiority,” Samson laughed, and stood aside to reveal the boys. “Remember how you used to pity me? Used to look into my addicted eyes and frown? I don’t feel so inferior now.” He drew an enormous sword, tinged red with lyrium, and Cullen made every effort to protest, to shout, to  _ howl _ , but he was incapable, and he finally slammed his arms against the wall of lightning in defiance, embracing the pain in favor of resignation.

And finally woke, gagging, covered in sweat.

Some variation of this happened almost every night while Trevelyan was away, and Cullen began to forego sleep in favor of working---coming up with new ways to track Samson down, making the troop drills more challenging, contemplating what moves he was going to teach Trevelyan in chess the next time they played…

Presuming she didn’t die on one of her highly dangerous missions.

Shoving aside the persistent fear that he had talked to her for the last time when she left for Crestwood (and he had made a total fool of himself yet again), he focused on the map covering the war table, and examined one of the pyramid markers placed in Orlais.

“Working hard, as always, I see.”

He nearly jumped three feet in the air.

“Leliana,” he greeted, and she inclined her head. “What keeps you up at this hour?”

“Whispers from Crestwood,” the spymaster replied, eyes twinkling.

“You mean---” He cleared his throat, trying to school his expression.

“Take a look for yourself.” She handed him a missive, marked with Harding’s intact seal (although he was certain she had already read it), and he thanked her, heart racing when he saw that familiar awful handwriting:

_ Got the Commander a little early nameday present. The boys and I are all intact, tying up some ends before meeting our new comrade. Hope all is well there---we will be happy to come home. _

_ E _

“What does she mean?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Read Harding’s report.”

His jaw dropped.

“She didn’t.”

“She did,” Leliana corrected, the corner of her mouth quirking. “She and her party took Caer Bronach from a nest of bandits. Singlehandedly.”

Cullen placed the clipboard on the war table, dumbfounded.

“This means...Maker, we need to install troops...supply lines…”

“It gives us roots in Ferelden. Josie is going to be overjoyed---this will exponentially increase our ability to trade. I’ve already sent agents to set up a skeleton: they’re leaving within the hour. Our Inquisitor has been busy.”

“She has,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair in stunned pleasure. “When are you going to tell Josephine?”

“In the morning---she’s sleeping with the rest of Skyhold. The Inquisitor would have wanted me to let you know as soon as possible, I’d think.”

“This is exactly the news I needed. Thank you, Leliana.”

“You are most welcome, but it is not me you should thank,” Leliana teased, heading toward the door with a wink. She had left the message on the war table.

Cullen picked up the note again, a stupid grin on his face. He traced the thin, cramped spikes of her letters with his eyes, imagining the look on her face when she wrote it. Happy, smug, endearing. He glanced at the marker he had moved before Leliana came in.

_ Supply lines… _

Carefully folding the note and placing it in his breast pocket, Cullen grabbed a quill and parchment and began writing orders.

\-----------

Trevelyan let out a hiss of discomfort as Hawke helped her slide off her boot. Untying the flat laces that pulled the leather of her trousers tight to her calves, she loosened the leg of her pants, rolling it up to reveal an angry burgundy wound spiraling up her limb.

“That’s going to scar nicely,” Hawke observed, which was seconded by the Iron Bull.

“Damn straight. Lightning scars hurt the worst, but look the best.”

“That teaches me to stand in a puddle while fighting a pride demon,” sighed Trevelyan, the smell of blood and ozone sending a wave of nausea through her. “Has anyone checked on Solas?”

“He’s already doing his odd outdoor napping thing,” Dorian announced. “The wards are put up, though, so he’s free to get all the rest he needs. Loghain’s in his tent, too, thank the Maker. That man is such a downer.”

“He’s a character,” agreed Trevelyan, fingers coming up to the thin cut on her neck from Loghain’s sword.

“Again, sorry about that,” Hawke apologized, lifting her leg and placing it in his lap. “The years and isolation have not been kind to him. He’s a little on the crazy side. Is this all right?” he asked, gesturing to her stockinged foot on his knee.

“As long as you don’t get handsy with me.”

“I’m only interested in that if you are, my lady. I prefer enthusiastic permission.” He hovered his hand above the burn, and Trevelyan held her breath as the flesh knit back together, the slow bleeding halting as it scabbed over. Hawke dabbed a strong-smelling salve over the spiral, then wrapped it loosely with a bandage.

“We should let it breathe, for now. I’ll wrap it tighter before we start riding tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Hawke. It already feels better.”

“Just let me know if you ever need  _ any _ kind of healing,” Hawke winked, and Trevelyan rolled her eyes as she crossed her injured leg over her whole one.

“I’ll let you know the next time I get maimed. You’re better off trying your luck on the other front with someone else---maybe Cassandra.”

“The Seeker? She’s a fine warrior,” Hawke said thoughtfully.

“Intriguing,” chipped in Dorian, stroking his mustache. “She does love the hero type. She also loves knocking anyone who displeases her into the next week.”

“You know those romance novels Varric writes?” Trevelyan asked Hawke, pressing her lips together to fight a smile.

“The extremely explicit ones?  _ Swords and Shields _ ?”

“Good reads,” Bull remarked, and Dorian let loose a gasp.

“You are  _ not _ being serious. As a connoisseur of erotic romance novels, I cannot let you glorify those travesties.”

“As much as I love Varric, I have to agree, they’re...not my favorite,” chuckled Hawke.

“Cassandra is a big fan. To each their own---I haven’t actually read any of Varric’s books,” Trevelyan admitted, and Hawke raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Not even the one about me? That’s my favorite,” Hawke teased.

“You are  _ so _ Cassandra’s type: the cocky hero who always has to have the last word. No, I haven’t read the one about you, and if you tell Varric that, I’ll have one of my agents fill your bedroll with lizards.”

“Maker forbid! Your secret is safe with me. I’m surprised---your Commander is in it, after all, albeit as a minor character,” quipped Hawke.

“I actually didn’t know that. He told me he knew of you and Varric, but not much else on the subject,” Trevelyan answered.

“I need to drop in on old Cullen and see if I can’t get him to make that particularly annoyed face. It used to be a game of ours, making the Knight-Captain’s brow wrinkle,” he declared, a wistful look on his face.

“Bother my Commander, Hawke, and I’ll kick your ass, in or out of the sparring ring,” Trevelyan warned, quirking an eyebrow.

“As you say, Lady Inquisitor---you are the last person in Thedas I’d want to displease. He’s a good man: I don’t mean him any harm,” Hawke said seriously. “Though I would be honored to get my ass kicked by you.” Trevelyan, bemused, began to laugh, followed by Bull and the rest.

“I’ll see what I can do. For now, I think we should turn in, we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bull said with a yawn, and they bade each other goodnight, heading to their tents.

\----------

“Dorian,” Trevelyan murmured, staring at the ceiling of their tent.

The mage let out a muffled groan.

“ _ Dorian, _ ” she repeated, nudging him with her hip, and he turned to face her with a sigh.

“What happened to turning in early?” he whined sleepily.

“You were right,” she muttered, and suddenly he was interested, a magelight coming to life between them as he propped his head up on his elbow.

“Oh? What about, this time? Was it when I said the Inquisition should look into importing Antivan wines?”

“No---”

“Hmm. When I suggested we have that tavern singer, Mary or Maura or whatnot assassinated?”

“No, but---”

“Oh, was it when I pointed out that just one of the Iron Bull’s tits was larger than your head?”

“N---well, actually, you might be right about that, but would you listen? You were right about me having...feelings.”

“Feelings about which subject? Nug racing? Vivienne’s wardrobe? Pornographic nov---”

Trevelyan placed her hand over his mouth.

“ _ Feelings _ about Cullen. I’ve been trying to sort out what---what’s going on, and it’s been awkward and scary and I feel a total mess, and I should’ve told you sooner but I wanted to try and understand it myself, first, but I don’t know if I ever even will and...you were right,” she stammered, her hand sliding from his mouth to the ground as she waited for his reaction.

“My dearest love,” Dorian began, affection coloring his features, “I know.”

“You know?”

“Seeing as you threatened to challenge a man who killed a Qunari Arishok in single combat over the Commander’s honor, and that was just in the last half hour, yes, I know. And I knew you’d tell me when you felt like you could. Not to mention you’ve even started stammering like the man.”

“Shut up,” Trevelyan groaned, covering her eyes with her hands. “It’s bad.”

“Why is it bad? He is over the moon for you. Like a doe-eyed schoolboy.”

“Even if that’s true, I don’t know if he even  _ wants _ ...anything. He’s already stretched over everything, and the apocalypse might be happening, and even if he did, I think---”

“Evie, shut up. Yes, the world is ending, but that’s all the more reason to  _ do it _ , to take the chance. Even if we don’t die soon, we’re all dying anyway. And if it doesn’t work out,” he gently took her face in his hand, “then we can go forward with our plan to have a sham wedding and take over the entire world, because I will always love you, no matter what. Also, if he hurts you, Sera and I will ruin his life, but I don’t think he will.”

“I love you forever, too, you ridiculous man,” Trevelyan laughed, trying not to sniffle. “Wait. You and Sera have planned this?”

“She came to my quarters in the dead of night soon after we got to Skyhold and threatened me with a variety of punishments if I kept teasing you about Cullen. Apparently, it was interfering with her plan to get you both to be less high-strung.”

“Sometimes I love that girl. And she terrifies me. That can only mean she has something enormous in store.”

“Apparently, she replaced all the liquor in my stash with vinegar, but I didn’t even notice. The next step was lizards. Or bees, I can’t recall. Do you feel better now?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“Yes. I feel silly and stupid and like kissing you and Sera.”

“Well, it just so happens I too have a silly confession to make,” Dorian declared, wiggling his eyebrows. “I...am going to let the Iron Bull seduce me.”

“I knew you’d been eyeing him with more interest of late. Was the last straw bandaging his large bosom?” Trevelyan giggled.

“It played a part. The man certainly has intriguing musculature. Our affair will be a tale for the ages---forbidden lovers, a la  _ Beauty and the Beast _ …” he dramatically opined, and she grinned happily.

“I’m glad for you. Keep me updated---has he made a move yet?”

“No, he doesn’t know that he’s going to court me yet, but I am completely in control of the situation and everything is proceeding as planned. Try not to be jealous.”

“How could I ever not envy you?” asked Trevelyan, and the pair tried to muffle their laughter, not wanting to disturb the others.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a fairly typical day in the Frostbacks, and, despite the fact that nearly all the daggers in the armory had been mysteriously replaced by turnips, Cullen was in a decent mood. He’d coordinated with Leliana to have sources of red lyrium traced in hopes of a lead to Samson, and their efforts bore fruit---smugglers had been found in the Emerald Graves, and Trevelyan was due to travel there anyway after Halamshiral. Even his nightmares had been muddier and less vivid of late, and he felt it was at least somewhat due to the fact he didn’t feel quite as helpless against the monstrous task before them.

“You have a shield on your arm---use it!” Cullen barked at an unlucky troop in the sparring ring just as his partner knocked him flat. Shaking his head, he ordered the rest to group up into squadrons of four and practice formation.

“Either you start to block with that, or you’ll be wearing it in your sleep for the next week.” He held out a hand and pulled up the boy, who nodded his head vigorously. There was a loud blast of a horn as the gates clanked open, and both Commander and soldier turned their heads as six horses swept past them to the stables.

“The Inquisitor’s back,” the latter said, voice stained with awe, and Cullen nodded, train of thought completely lost. Clapping the lad on the shoulder, he instructed him to join the others, exiting the ring to speak with Rylen, who was yelling instructions.

“I believe I am about to be caught in a series of tedious meetings,” he said to his Knight-Captain, who glanced over at the stables before replying.

“Aye, but perhaps the company will get you through,” Rylen said with a knowing look.

“Make them good and sore,” he instructed, making his way to the stables where Trevelyan still sat atop her horse.

“It’s really starting to annoy me. Are you sure you can---”

“Andraste’s ass, Your Worship, just get off the horse,” Hawke laughed, arms outstretched. Trevelyan’s mouth was scrunched tight in deliberation, but, as Cullen came near her with a wave, her face relaxed into a grin, her grey eyes lighting up. Swinging her left leg over her horse, she jumped off, meeting Hawke’s assistance with a light huff.

“All right?” Cullen asked, struggling to remain composed in the face of her eagerness to see him.

“Better, now,” she answered, but he caught the way she favored her leg, his brow furrowing.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nothing serious,” she assured him, though she was leaning heavily on Hawke, who tucked an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

“This Inquisition is a whole new level of crazy. I’ve never fought four pride demons at once before this week,” Hawke remarked, prompting a groan from Trevelyan.

“Not a good combination with all the puddles in Crestwood.”

“Are you in pain?” Cullen pressed, concerned, and she tilted her head from side to side.

“The ride didn’t help anything, and it definitely needs redressing, but it’s not too bad.”

“That reminds me---Josephine wanted to convene about Halamshiral the moment you returned, something about wardrobe,” Cullen warned, and her face became threatened and alert.

“In that case, it’s eating up my leg and I’m on my deathbed,” she quipped, the hand that wasn’t clinging to Hawke’s shoulder flexing nervously.

“I’m of the same mind,” he admitted, and to his pleasure, he had chased a small smile back onto her face. “Where are the others?”

“Blissfully changing into something that doesn’t have moss growing on it, I presume,” she sighed. “I can’t say I’m not eager to do the same.”

“In Ferelden, we believe that moss builds character,” deadpanned Hawke, and she snorted, shaking her head.

“I thought you were a Marcher, like me.”

“Lothering bred,” Hawke corrected, shaking his head at Cullen. “She hasn’t read the book.”

“You haven’t?” he parroted, surprised.

“Has everyone else in Thedas? I guess I’ll have to,” Trevelyan grumbled, wincing as she shifted her stance. “Anyone willing to load me into a trebuchet and fling me into my quarters?”

“I want a look at that leg before you get trapped in what I must assume to be the most boring meeting I’ve ever heard of,” Hawke replied. “Get ready to be carried.” Trevelyan rolled her eyes as he carefully scooped her up, the jostle screwing up her eyes.

“Commander, I demand a more substantial amount of your time as soon as I can have it,” she said apologetically, and Cullen inclined his head.

“You’re welcome to as much as I can give.”

\----------

“Let me get this straight,” Trevelyan began, pressing the pads of her fingers to her temples. “I will be killing people at this event.”

“Oh, yes,” answered Josephine.

“I will be skulking around places I shouldn’t be caught in at this event.”

“Definitely,” Leliana replied.

“People will be trying to kill  _ me _ at this event.”

“Without a doubt,” supplied Cullen grimly.

“And you two want me to wear  _ white? _ ”

Josephine frowned, tapping the side of her clipboard with her quill as she thought.

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Regardless of what color I wear, I’m going to get dirty, so unless blood is the new black in Halamshiral, we’d ought to talk to Dorian or Vivienne about an enchantment. Not to mention boning and armor.”

“All right,” conceded Leliana. 

“That reminds me,” Josephine sighed, brow pinched, “are you still considering bringing---”

“I have  _ decided _ on bringing Sera. We won’t be making the foolish mistake of discounting any possible friends in Halamshiral.”

“So long as she behaves herself,” Josephine muttered sourly, and Trevelyan thought she saw a flicker of amusement on Cullen’s face.

“Dorian and Bull are also coming along---they’ll express our arcane and mercenary power, respectively. Not to mention Dorian actually wants to be there,” Trevelyan sighed.

“At least we won’t have to teach him to dance,” Leliana quipped with a glance to Cullen.

“Speaking of,” piped Josephine, “let’s go over the allemande…”

\----------

  
  


After the abysmal eternity that was Josephine and Leliana discussing fabrics for a few hours while he and Trevelyan shared alarmed looks, Cullen had finally finished up the day’s drills and hastily used the barracks showers. Upon returning to his desk (after doing what was necessary to keep his hair from going wild with curls), he heard a knock.

“Come in,” he called, eager despite himself, and in darted a runner.

“Sir!”

“Yes?” he sighed, disappointed, and was handed a thick clipboard of missives.

_ No rest for the wicked. _

Some hours later, he reached the bottom of the pile, only to find a short note in a familiar spiky hand:

_ Apparently I should avoid “traipsing around Skyhold” for a day or so, according to a certain terribly smug healer, but I’d love to see you when you have some time. Come on up whenever you like. _

Standing abruptly as he reread the note, he mentally kicked himself as it all began to make sense.

_ Of course I should have known she wouldn’t be able to come to me, her leg is hurt. _

_ Maker, how long has she been waiting on me? _

Placing the note in his desk drawer, he left for Trevelyan’s quarters.

As he knocked on her door, his apprehension began to mount, as always.

“Come in,” he heard her call, and he did so, stepping inside to see her stretching to reach something inside her wardrobe.

“Hey, you,” Trevelyan grinned, looking at him over her shoulder. She wore an oversized tunic of pale green silk over dark cotton leggings that had one of the legs cut off high on her thigh---the rest of her leg was wrapped in linen bandages. Her hair was completely loose, tumbling down her back, and, for a moment, he forgot to apologize for his tardiness, to fret over her leg, to respond to her greeting, and instead just stood there stupidly.

“You’re just in time for the graphic part,” she continued, grabbing a roll of bandages from the top shelf of the wardrobe and closing one of its doors with her hip.

“I’m so sorry it took me this long---the damned runner put what you wrote on the bottom of the pile, and I didn’t see it until---I hope I haven’t kept you waiting---”

“Cullen,” she interjected, eyes twinkling, “You’re fine. I told them to put it below the others.”

“Wait---what?” he stammered as she slipped her hand in his and led him to the couch.

“I knew if you came before you finished reports you’d be stressed out about them,” she explained, sinking into the couch as he confusedly did the same next to her. “But I knew you’d come anyway as soon as you found it, so…”

He started to protest, but doing so would require revealing that he could have done the reports later while everyone else was sleeping, which would give away the fact that he was barely sleeping anymore, which would make her double down on her ill-conceived but entirely too tempting plan to wake him from his nightmares.

“You know me too well,” Cullen managed instead, and Trevelyan smiled, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb before she released it. “What’s ‘the graphic part’? Dare I ask?”

“Well, as Hawke left to meet Loghain earlier, he’s letting me change my own bandages now, as long as I don’t think it’s getting any worse,” she explained, eyeing her wrapped leg with disdain. “I also get to put the nastiest salve ever constructed on it.”

“Spindleweed,” Cullen supplied, wrinkling his nose sympathetically, and she cocked her head at him, interested. “Basic medical training is taught to all Templar recruits---at least, it was when I was one,” he amended.

“Full of surprises,” she chuckled, and he felt his cheeks darken as she rolled up the edge of her cut-off leggings even higher up her thigh. “I’m glad I have an expert present.”

“Does it trouble you?” he asked, purposefully ignoring her use of the term “expert”.

“Only when I touch it,” she sighed, grabbing a small knife off of the table beside her. “And when it touches anything. Fair warning, it looks a lot worse than it is…”

And she began to remove the bandages by slitting them open on the side, revealing a wound that had Cullen gripping the back of the couch in shock.

It was a fairly tight spiral, somewhat covered in partially healed burgundy scabs; the injury began in the middle of her calf, ran over her knee, and finished halfway up her thigh, and the worst of it seemed to be at the top---the usually porcelain skin was an angry pink around the scarlet lacerations.

“Maker have mercy, Evelyn,” he choked. “You’ve been walking around on that?”

“Hawke focused the majority of the healing around the knee so I could get the most function out of it,” she explained, examining her bare leg with a grimace. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ride back, and I wasn’t going to let it stop me. It really does look worse than it is---it’s just the type of wound, it’s not just a cut, it’s kind of a---”

“Burn,” Cullen murmured. “The Pride demons.”

“Yes,” she confirmed softly. “Caught with a whip.” She swapped the knife with a decently-sized jar of poultice and began twisting off the lid.

“Here,” he offered, and she handed him the open jar, perfect brows raised in surprise. “Where does it hurt the most?”

She waved her hand over the lower half of her thigh, and he nodded, pulling off his gloves with his teeth. Moving to the ottoman, he pulled it closer to her, motioning for her to place her foot on it beside him.

“Is this ok?” he asked her, self-conscious, but the easy look on her face put his heart in his throat for all the right reasons.

“Very.”

Feeling suddenly warm, he dipped two fingers into the admittedly putrid salve and began to carefully apply it to her leg, starting with her calf.

“Let me know if I’m using too much pressure,” he warned, and she nodded, wincing, her nose crinkled in discomfort. “What do you think of Hawke?”

“Hawke?” she laughed, distracted as he continued slowly up her limb. “He’s not what I expected, though I---ah---I don’t know that I had any expectations,” she replied. “Why? What do you think of him?” she inquired, gripping the arm of the couch with an elegant hand.

“Just...curiosity, now that you’ve been out---spent so much time with him, I mean,” stammered Cullen awkwardly, but Trevelyan’s eyes were closed, a touch of sweat gleaming on her brow. “He tends to bring out...strong reactions in people.” He gave her a reprieve as he gathered more salve, and she opened her eyes, one brow raised.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you dodge the question, Cullen…” she took a deep breath as he began anew, having almost made it to her knee. “We actually discussed you, a little.”

Cullen tried not to panic at her words.

_ There were a hundred things Hawke could’ve told her about him---and a few were actually true. _

“Oh?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light.

“Uh-huh,” she confirmed, breathing more normally as he smoothed the salve onto the delicate skin beneath her knee. “He said you were a good man.”

_ Now  _ that _ was unexpected. _

“That surprises me,” he admitted, curving the path of his hand to cover her kneecap and the snarl of slices that crossed it.

“It didn’t surprise me,” she countered with a half smile. “He also said something about making a game of annoying you back in Kirkwall…”

“That sounds more like it,” groaned Cullen.

“...and I assured him there would be consequences if he tried to start it up again here.”

He nearly laughed out loud at that, despite the task at hand, but he sat back, examining his handiwork. Trevelyan’s leg was coated in the pinkish paste from midcalf to just above her knee, and the only part left to do was what she had described as the most painful.

“Do you want to take a break before we do the rest?” he asked seriously.

“Let’s just do it,” decided Trevelyan, swallowing thickly. “Also, I can’t be held responsible for my mouth from here on out, just so you know.”

He took the pillow from the other side of the couch and placed it behind her back for support, then guided her foot further along the ottoman to give himself better access to her thigh.

“If it gets to be too much…” he repeated, and she nodded, jaw clenched, pulse visible at her neck. “Hey,” he murmured, using his clean hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, “you’re a badass, remember?”

She laughed even as her knuckles turned white on the arm of the chair.

“I remember Hawke and Isabela coming around the Gallows seemingly just to irritate me,” he told her as he began to daub at the top of her thigh. “Sometimes they would succeed, but, after a few years, it got to where I would just put on an annoyed expression when they approached me and they would leave me alone that much faster…”

“You spoiled their fun,” she chuckled, exhaling sharply as he touched the tender skin on the inside of her thigh.

“Perhaps. I’m somewhat conditioned to be annoyed every time I see him, though, so he may have ultimately won. I suppose I have you to thank for his playing nice of late.” He continued to spread the paste while he gauged her appearance. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were shut, and she was incredibly tense, but she wasn’t in danger of passing out.

“Hmm,” Trevelyan huffed breathlessly, “fear not, Commander. I take defending your honor very seriously.”

And he was glad her eyes were still closed so she couldn’t see what had to be the dumbest look of pure affection on his face.

“Almost done,” he informed her, clearing his throat, and she nodded, bracing herself.

“Oh,  _ shit _ ,” she yelped as he smoothed over a particularly deeper groove on the back of her leg, and he paused, but she shook her head. “Keep going, I don’t need to stop.” He offered his free hand, and she placed hers in it, knitting their fingers together.

“You’re doing well,” he praised truthfully. “I think most of my men would’ve fainted by now.”

“I’m glad you’re here to help,” she admitted, gripping his hand tightly as the other moved up her thigh. “This would have been much more difficult by myself. There was going to be a lot more alcohol involved.”

“I’m no healer, but don’t hesitate to ask me for help, and if it’s within my power, I’ll do it,” he murmured as he finished up. “Whatever it is, whenever.”

“Careful, Commander,” Trevelyan teased. “I might just take you up on that.”

After her leg was wrapped and elevated, they had started a chess game, but soon enough, the board lay forgotten on the table as they caught each other up on what they’d missed.

“How have you been feeling?” Trevelyan asked, and his hesitation to answer made her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Better, now that I have a fort of my very own,” he joked, and she grinned widely.

“I thought you might like that. You’ll have to come see it, sometime---there are some very Fereldan mabari statues all over the place. Charter tells me there’s a somewhat domesticated spider living beneath it, named Marshmallow or Snowball or something, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing that for myself anytime soon.”

“A spider named Snowball?” he repeated, amused.

“A  _ giant _ spider named Snowball. All you could ever want in a fort.”

“Perhaps someday, if we have the opportunity…” he trailed off. “Truthfully, I do feel somewhat anxious being back here behind battlements while you’re out there, in constant danger, risking your life.”

“Someone has to make sure the walls will still be standing when I get back,” Trevelyan half-smiled. “If we saw less horrible things and more worthwhile ones, I would want you to come with us all the time. I miss you terribly when I’m away. But I think you’ve seen more terrible things than anyone should have to, and someone has to keep all our scamps in line.”

_ She didn’t even know the half of it. _

“I miss you too,” Cullen breathed, moved by her thoughts---by how easily she confessed them. “I---when you’re gone...well, I’m always better when you’re here. Much better.”

She was quiet for a moment, gray eyes soft and dusky.

“We need to write more,” she decided, eyes sparkling.

“All right,” he blurted, thoughts drawn to the drawer in which he had kept every note, letter, and missive she had ever written to him, her spiky words crawling across the parchment. “I would like that. Very much.”

“Not quite as good as having you along to spy on a sleeping dragon with me, but I’ll try and get better with my descriptions,” she chuckled.

“A  _ dragon? _ ” he sputtered, eyes widening in alarm.

“Easy, now, Commander. A sleeping one.”


	13. Chapter 13

As the temperature had reached unprecedented heights at Skyhold (and perhaps due to the presence of the Inquisitor, if you listened to the talk in the barracks), the Commander was in an unusually good mood, giving the soldiers permission to use the sparring ring as they saw fit (within reason) once drills and paired combat for the day was finished.

Trevelyan was inching down the stairs outside her quarters when Dorian whipped open the door.

“I’ve got wine, I’ve got opera glasses, and I’ve got those little cakes you like.”

“Occasion?” Trevelyan asked, confused, making it down the last few steps with a huff.

“Half naked people fighting in the courtyard.  _ Lots _ of them.”

\--------------

Having stepped in to correct the same recruit’s footing for the second time in an hour, Cullen didn’t turn around as he heard him fall to the ground with a grunt. Vaulting back over the ring fencing, he watched as the next pair fought to determine a winner. The hardheaded recruit went to sit on the stands with the other beaten opponents, soon to be joined by a soldier who looked right past her adversary, only to be clocked in the face with his shield.

“What was that?” barked Cullen, shaking his head. “ _ Never  _ take your eyes off of your opponent!”

“I think I might’ve been to blame for that,” sounded a familiar crisp voice, and he turned to see Trevelyan and Dorian, arm in arm.

“Please,” sniffed the latter, “it was obviously me. This is  _ Antivan leather. _ ”

“Rylen,” Cullen called, shaking his head, and the Knight-Captain took his place with a grin, hands on his hips.

“I’ll go get us good seats,” announced Dorian, who was holding a sack with what looked suspiciously like the neck of a bottle of wine poking out of the top.

“‘Good seats’?” Cullen repeated skeptically to Trevelyan, crossing his arms. She followed the movement with her gaze, and he felt somewhat self-conscious, realizing he was covered in sweat.

“Are you and the others opposed to having...something of an audience?” she asked, meeting his eyes with a faint smile.

He opened his mouth to answer, but was drowned out by an enthusiastic chorus of “NO”s led by Rylen himself.

“I suppose not,” he finished, giving his second a look, and Dorian cheered from the makeshift stands. “How’s the leg?”

“Much better. A certain medic worked their magic on it last night, and Solas says I’ll be ready for active duty by tomorrow.” She paused, considering the ring and then him, tilting her head as she looked him over. “We haven’t ever really sparred, have we?”

“No,” answered Cullen, raising an eyebrow as he tried not to smile.

“It’s a shame. I’d hop in there with you if I could---I wouldn’t mind an ass kicking if it came from you,” she chuckled. “You wear the sunlight well, Commander. It suits you.”

_ Wait, wh-- _

“I guess it’s all right that I’m not able to spar today, though,” Trevelyan said, glancing down at the complicated-looking ties of her blouse. “It’d be too hard to get this off in a timely manner.”

“I…” he stammered, flabbergasted.

“Try and have some fun,” she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it with a grin.

And, just like that, she was off, limping gracefully over to the stands.

Dazed, he took Rylen’s place outside the ring and began shouting corrections, head swirling.

_ Was she hitting on him? _

_ She was hitting on him. _

_ Right? _

He glanced over in her direction to see Rylen helping her up onto her seat, and she caught his eye and winked at him. He shook his head, fighting a grin and failing, and clamped his lips together as he faced back towards the ring.

\--------------

“Do  _ not  _ let me have any more of that wine,” Trevelyan whispered to Dorian.

“Works for me,” he replied happily, peering through the opera glasses at the current opponents. “I’m seriously rethinking military life…”

“No featherbeds or silks,” she reminded him.

“Rethinking over. It was nice while it lasted.”

Swallowing hard, Trevelyan let her gaze slip back over to Cullen, who had his back to them.

His bare, unbelievably muscular back.

The man might as well have been carved from marble. Trevelyan knew that running around with fifty-odd pounds of armor on all the time while running drills and training men and women to fight for their lives every day for hours on end would keep a man fit, she just didn’t know how fit. And the answer was very. Not to mention he was glistening with sweat and his hair had this slight curl to it she hadn’t seen before and when he turned around to talk to her she forgot how to speak.

_ This is a terrible development. _

Cullen also had his fair share of scars, crossing over his strong shoulders, licking at his ribs, scratching down his stomach. She noticed he had a few like the one on her leg---electricity burns---but they seemed to be much, much older, and she remembered the look on his face when he saw hers for the first time.

Thankfully, some of her sense remained intact, so she did not follow her first instinct, which was to haul Cullen into Skyhold, throw him against the nearest wall, and kiss every one of those scars, starting with that damned one on his mouth.

However, despite that initial victory, she had definitely said too much about stripping and sparring and other embarrassing things, so the last thing she needed was alcohol loosening her already rogue tongue.

“I don’t think that man has ever relaxed a muscle in his body,” Trevelyan murmured to Dorian, who zoomed his gaze over to Cullen.

“Hmm. Sounds like something you could help with, perhaps?” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I don’t even know. Damn. Is this how you feel all the time?”

“How do you mean?” Dorian asked, peeking over the opera glasses.

“Well, Bull really never wears a shirt…”

“Ah! Good point. I suppose so.”

\----------

By the time they had nearly narrowed down to the final pair, the stands were nearly full with spectators. Sera had taken the seat on Trevelyan’s left, occasionally eating a petit four out of the Inquisitor’s hand; Varric and Cassandra sat on the frontmost row, the former taking bets, the latter making the occasional noise of disgust; Blackwall and Bull sat on Dorian’s other side, drinking horns of ale and laughing uproariously. Everyone else (sans Vivienne, who disapproved greatly) was peppered throughout, along with recruits, soldiers, and the bard that Dorian was suspicious of.

When the last victor between the soldiers was crowned, a wild cheer went up, and even Cullen was smiling as he clapped with the others. Now, as was customary, she would duel the Knight-Captain (Rylen) and the winner would start out the next round of matches (where anyone could participate).

Noticing Cullen looked to be scanning the stands for a place to sit down, Trevelyan elbowed Dorian.

“I’m going to move. I need a drink; hand me the bottle,” she hissed, and he did so, snickering. As she handed it back, he moved much closer to Bull, gesturing with his hands for the rest of them to move as well.

“Make room for the Commander!” sang Dorian, patting the space between him and Trevelyan, and she didn’t know if she wanted to kiss him or kill him.

“Well?” Cullen asked as he sat down beside her, packed in rather tightly.

“I’m very impressed,” she answered, looking up at him with a grin. “If they attack our enemies with half as much enthusiasm as they do each other, the red templars had better run for the hills.” He chuckled, and the low rumble so close to her made her stomach flip. “We couldn’t ask for a better commander.”

To her extreme pleasure, he blushed, pink creeping all the way down to the top of his chest as he cleared his throat.

There was a mix of groans and cheers as Rylen managed to throw his opponent to the ground.

“Oi, where’s the bottle?” asked Sera, pausing her conversation with Dagna as she peered around Trevelyan. “Hey, jackboot! Tits look nice.”

“Sera, let’s not objectify the Commander,” Trevelyan sighed rather guiltily, reaching around Cullen’s back and tapping Dorian on the shoulder. “Alcohol, please.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to limit you?” he stage-whispered, also leaning back behind Cullen.

“It’s for Sera. The sooner she’s incoherent, the better.”

Dorian handed over the bottle with a knowing look.

Cullen raised an eyebrow as Trevelyan shoved the bottle into Sera’s lap.

“Herding cats,” she explained, and he smiled.

“Can’t say anyone’s ever given me that compliment before,” he murmured, leaning down to reach her ear, and the warmth of his breath gave her chills.

“That’s a Sera standard. Bull’s gotten it, Cassandra, it was one of the first things she ever said to me, Harding, Dagna, and those are just the ones I’ve witnessed. She’s something of an expert.”

_ Andraste Almighty. I need to shut my mouth. _

“Well,” he said awkwardly, flushing even deeper as he shifted in his seat, “thank you, I suppose.”

“Alcohol, please,” she sighed, turning to Sera, who handed over the bottle with a cackle.

\---------------

Cullen was both relieved and nervous to be sitting next to Trevelyan.

For one, he was a mess, half naked and soaked through with sweat, but she didn’t seem to mind, smiling up at him like he was just the person she wanted to see, and they were seated so snugly that he could just feel the lines of her body against his arm as she leaned back.

She had complimented him, albeit quirkily, and he had handled it with his usual grace, so as he recovered, he watched her drink from the bottle of wine, head tipped back.

“Want some?” she offered, and he declined.

“I’m not sure I’m technically off duty yet,” he explained, and she chuckled, handing the bottle back to a decidedly drunk Sera, who seemed to be saying something about bees at a very high volume.

Rylen scored the third hit, and the crowd began to cheer as he helped up his adversary, clapping her on the back. 

“Damn,” swore Blackwall as Bull smirked at him.

As both parties exited the ring, Varric went to confer with Rylen about his next round.

“Thinking of partaking?” Trevelyan asked, gently nudging his leg with hers.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, and she pouted, eliciting a laugh from him. “Why? Were you wanting me to?”

“I wouldn’t mind watching you,” she admitted casually. “But having you up here with me is just as good.”

“Next time,” he promised, and she looked up at him, mischief in her eyes.

“Will you all be shirtless next time?”

“If the Inquisitor commands it,” he said gravely, unable to keep a straight face as she began to shake with laughter. He barely stifled his own as she buried her face in his shoulder, and, if he let go, he might’ve pulled her into his lap, kissed her on the crown of her head, tucked the loose hair behind her ears---

Instead, he kept control, and did none of those things, swallowing down his longing.

“Inquisitor!” called Rylen, mischief in his voice, and Trevelyan lifted her head, sitting up straight as she regained control of herself.

“Knight-Captain?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically.

“As the winner of the deciding duel, and the starter of the rounds before us, I humbly request something of you, Your Grace.”

“Oh? And what is your request?” Trevelyan inquired, glancing at Cullen, who shrugged cluelessly. Rylen climbed up the stands to kneel before her, and her eyebrows reached for her hairline.

“A favor, Your Grace,” he replied with a grin.

“And here I am, all out of flowers and frilly cakes,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Very well. Do you have something specific in mind?”

“Something traditional would work just fine, Your Grace,” Rylen suggested innocently, and a whoop went up among the crowd, led by Dorian.

Narrowing her eyes at Rylen in amusement, Trevelyan looked at Cullen, who seemed nothing short of alarmed.

“All right, Knight-Captain,” she declared, tucking what hair had come loose behind her ears, “but next time, you have to ask the favor of the Commander.”

She stood, patting Cullen on the shoulder, and took Rylen’s face in her hands, planting her lips on his brow to raucous cheering. Shaking her head, she sat back down, watching as Rylen was swarmed with thumps on the back as he made his way back down to the ring.

“Such a smartass,” Trevelyan murmured to Cullen. “It’s a good thing he’s so likeable.”

“Yes,” Cullen said distractedly, and she cocked her head at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t worry, I was only kidding when I said you’d do the next one. Do they not do favors in Ferelden? Is it a Marcher thing?”

“No, ah, it’s a practice, I’d just...forgotten. About it.”

“If he and Sera ever team up, we’re in for it,” she sighed, watching as Rylen was healthily walloped by a strong hit from Blackwall.

“Maker, don’t even think about it,” he groaned, glancing warily at Sera, who let out a large hiccup.

\---------

As Blackwall was added to Rylen’s list of conquests, a queue of contenders had formed near the ring, the foremost of which being Cassandra.

Trevelyan, now more than a little under the influence, was astonished when Cullen rose from his seat beside her.

“No way,” she beamed up at him, thumping Dorian on the back in awe, and he gave a devastating sort of little smirk.

“Whatever the Inquisitor desires…” teased the Commander, and Trevelyan felt herself turn beet red.

As soon as Cassandra saw Cullen coming down to join the line, she threw her head back and laughed, gesturing for him to move to the front. Trevelyan watched him clap her on the back in thanks, grabbing a training sword and a sizeable kite shield from the supplies.

Apart from the attack on Haven and the occasional training session, Trevelyan realized she hadn’t actually been able to witness Cullen fighting----certainly not in his element. Swallowing with an audible click, she readjusted in her seat as Dorian wrapped his arm in hers.

“Seems like someone felt like reminding good old Rylen who gave him his training,” chuckled Bull, easily reaching around them to prize the wine bottle from Sera’s grip. “Whattaya think, Boss? Who should I put my money on?”

“Cullen, all the way,” she answered, not missing the look of amusement on the Qunari’s face as he took a drink. “But you’d know better---you see them train more than I do.”

“Jackboot’ll win,” added Sera, leaning over Trevelyan to the point where she was almost in her lap. “It’s the..frustration, yeah? Frussssssshtrations…”

“She makes a good point. Sloppily, but still,” Dorian sighed, taking out the opera glasses once more.

Rylen was fast and unpredictable, but Cullen had patience and sheer strength. The Knight-Captain would release a fierce strike followed by the slam of his shield, but the Commander simply blocked it, the muscles of his back and shoulders rippling as he absorbed the blow---then brought his shield up to bash Rylen off his feet, his sword at the younger man’s throat before he could register it.

Predictably, the crowd went wild.

“Are you getting fluttery?” Dorian stage whispered to Trevelyan as Cullen disarmed Rylen and sent him down with a kick. “I’m getting some flutters.”

Trevelyan swatted him on the chest, standing to try and make her way down to the floor, gratefully accepting the help of the many offered outstretched hands. She made it to the fence just as Cullen delivered the third hit, shield whipping Rylen cleanly across the jaw.

As cheers and sounds of mourning for lost gold erupted around them, Cullen climbed out to meet her, panting as he pushed back his hair.

“He keeps forgetting to mind his center,” he explained practically, still a little breathless and more than a little beautiful. “Acts from the shoulders instead of the---”

“Cullen,” Trevelyan cut in, almost laughing at his sincerity and the sweetness of it. “You were amazing.” The tell-tale pink began to creep down his throat, and she tried not to think about chasing it with her fingertips.

“At least tell me you’re going to be sore in the morning,” groaned Rylen, vaulting out of the ring as he rubbed at his jaw.

“Not as sore as you after we fix your centering tomorrow,” Cullen chuckled, clapping Rylen on the back.

“You should have Solas take a look at that. Tell him I sent you---and I’ll do whatever menial herbal deed he deems necessary as recompense,” Trevelyan teased. “And we’ll do your next favor on the jaw, for extra luck.”

“Many thanks, Your Worship,” sighed Rylen, looking wearily at Cullen. “It seems I’ll be needing it.”

As Cullen gave his weapons to Cassandra, Trevelyan realized something.

“Finished for the evening?” she asked as he offered her his arm.

“I think so,” he answered, looking down at her as they started for their seats. “Disappointed?”

“What? No. No, I simply...came to realize something,” she explained, gripping his forearm a touch more tightly. “While you were extremely impressive, I’m quite satisfied.”

Still flushing, he chuckled, low in his ribs.

“I’m flattered. And glad to hear it. What was it?”

“Hmmm?” she replied, distracted.

“Your realization, Your Grace.”

“‘Your Grace’ me again and there will be consequences,” she growled, poking him in the chest as he shook with laughter. “Well, you beat Rylen, and you’re not fighting anyone else, so you can’t be beaten…”

“Oh?” he responded, whiskey eyes twinkling.

“One might think that maybe...I owe you a favor.”

“Is that how that works?” he asked, voice light but eyes darker.

“Hmm. I’m the Inquisitor. I make the rules,” she declared, beginning to climb up the stands, Cullen taking some of the weight off of her bad leg.

“Well, in that case,” Cullen rumbled as they sat down, and Trevelyan wet her lips, pulse skyrocketing, “could I claim it at a different venue?”

She pretended to think, slightly disappointed.

“I suppose the powers that be would allow such a thing.”

“They are benevolent indeed,” he murmured, clearing his throat as he caught sight of the wine bottle in a snoozing Sera’s clutches. “Alcohol, please?”

Trevelyan handed over the bottle, snickering. His eyes widened as he took a drink.

“This is more than half full!”

“Dorian’s got it enchanted with the barrels of wine at the back of Cabot’s cellar,”

Trevelyan whispered conspiratorially, trying to hold back her giggles. “One of these days someone’s going to find all the empties. How else do you think we all could’ve been drinking from the same bottle all day?”


	14. Chapter 14

Trevelyan was readying her horse when she heard the familiar clank of obsidian approaching.

“Commander,” she greeted without turning around, buckling the end of a saddlebag. “Aren’t we up early?”

“I’m always up this early,” he reminded her with a gentle smile, coming around to help her with her task. “Morning drills.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she groaned, peering at the sunrise that had barely begun. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” he reassured quickly, “I just came to see you off. And…”

“And?” she prompted, the corners of her mouth pulling up.

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat, “we had talked about…”

“The favor,” she supplied, grinning now. “Of course. What were you wanting?”

“Er, what Rylen got would be...,” he stammered, amber eyes following the movements of her hands as she pulled off her gloves and stuck them in her back pocket.

“Where?” she asked, drawing closer, and his lips parted as he gazed down at her.

“Wherever you like,” Cullen murmured, voice steady, and he closed his eyes as she cupped both sides of his jaw in her hands, liking the sting of his stubble on the pads of her fingers. Weighing degrees of audacity in her mind, she saw the scar she liked so much, stroking it with her thumb.

_ Oh, to hell with it. _

She pressed her lips to the scar, which just so happened to cross his top lip, and when she broke away, his tawny eyes popped open in surprise---and something else.

His hands (which were previously tucked behind his back) gently came to hold her waist, and she was breathing so hard and the pulse at his neck was visible----

“Commander!”

She felt her head fall forward on his shoulder.

“ _ What? _ ” growled Cullen, lips pulling back as he whipped around to face the oblivious scout, who was intently reading the clipboard he held.

“Operation complete in Crestwood, sir! Yielded thirteen embrium.”

The Commander cocked his head, eyes slitted in sheer amazement, and Trevelyan began to rub at her forehead, suddenly very interested in her saddle.

“Thirteen embrium,” Cullen repeated, voice dangerously calm.

“Aye, sir! And three elfroot,” the poor man responded, wincing as he looked up to find irritation coming off of his superior in waves.

“And you decided to come bother me with this instead of placing it on my desk with the others  _ because _ …” prompted Cullen with a snarl, and, seeing the fear of the Maker in the scout’s eyes, Trevelyan decided to intervene.

“I’ll sign off on that,” she interjected lightly, gently prizing the report from the man’s quivering hands and scratching her initials at the bottom with the attached quill after she skimmed its contents.

“Th-thank you, Inquisitor,” squeaked the scout as he took back the clipboard, backing away from Cullen, who had crossed his arms and adopted a glare that could wither houseplants. As the lad made his escape, stumbling out of the stable door, Trevelyan pulled on her gloves with a sigh.

“I should probably---”

“Right,” Cullen answered quickly, all annoyance melting away as he checked the buckles on her saddles one more time. “I’m, ah, sorry to have kept you---” he began, boosting her up once he had led out her horse, and she shook her head, thinking about the brief feeling of his scar beneath her lips.

“Don’t be. I wish you’d keep me more often.”

He flushed, looking down with a chuckle.

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not actually sorry, then.”

\---------------

_ C, _

_ I’m imagining you reading this, completely sand-free other than what few grains will undoubtedly get sent along with this, and I’m quite jealous. Bask in your grainless existence, knowing that we may never be the same after this fun desert vacation---we’re certainly smoother. Other attractions of the Approach include enormous spiders (venomous, of course), approximately four trees (so far), and darkspawn (see attached report). _

_ I’m also hoping you’ve had a less eventful day---hopefully one with three square meals and not too much frowning---and I hope, above all else, that you’re well, even if I’m terribly envious of you and your sandless armor.  _ _ I<strike> miss you like hell</strike>.  _ _ We’re all ready to come home, and it looks like we may be back within the month: we might even get you another fort, if all goes as planned. Now I have to run to one of the four trees to knock on wood. _

_ E _

_ P. S. Hawke keeps badgering people to arm wrestle him. Insights? _

_ E, _

_ Your letter has given me a completely new outlook on life. Now, instead of morning drills, the recruits and I thank the Maker that Skyhold isn’t located in a desert for a full four hours. I’ve never realized what I’ve taken for granted. _

_ All jokes aside, you have my sympathies. _

_ Rylen apparently shares quite the hatred for sand (I believe he said something along the lines of ‘coarse, irritating, and gets everywhere’) and sends his as well. I considered sending him out with the team to investigate the darkspawn, but they had already left by the time he had expressed his sentiments. Perhaps next time. _

_ No venomous spiders here, unless you count that abominable Orlesian duchess.  _

_ Things have been thankfully uneventful, and your letter has definitely reduced my frowning. I will try harder on the meal front. _ <strike> _ I am  _ </strike> _ we are eagerly anticipating your return. You needn’t worry about me---I’m doing fine. Please be careful,  _ <strike> _ it would kill me if anything happened to you  _ </strike> _ I hope to see you soon. _

_ C _

_ P. S. Don’t give in---he’ll wait until you’ve almost won and then try and strike you with lightning. _

_ C, _

_ You’ve been spending too much time with Dorian. _

_ Even so, somehow you make the insufferable tolerable once more---thank you for the letter. It made me laugh---which made the others think I might have sunstroke. I’m currently writing this from Griffon Wing Keep (see report) while I try and hide from Hawke, who keeps following me around with an extra tunic as some sort of makeshift parasol to shield me from the sun. Loath as I am to admit it, he may have a point---I’ve become quite red. Remind me to bring Solas along for our next sweltering adventure: I’m sure he’d know some tricks for the climate. He’s a bit closer to my complexion than Hawke or Dorian, who haven’t even gotten pink. _

_ Before you start thinking up some joke involving the troops and burn salve, Commander, do remember I just captured a fort  _ <strike> _ especially  _ </strike> _ for you. _

_ Let poor Rylen be! Knowing you, you’re absolutely overworking yourself---there’s plenty he can help with there.  _ <strike> _ I need you to _ </strike> _ take care of yourself; draw a bath, raid my cellar for a drink, keep yourself sane. Whatever the Inquisitor desires, remember? _

_ We have eyes on the Warden encampment we’ve been looking for, and should have this wrapped up soon.  _ <strike> _ We’re  _ </strike> _ I’m being extra careful. Chess when we get back? _

_ E _

_ P. S. Noted. Speaking from experience? _

_ P.  _ _ P. S. Hope you’re doing well, Sister Nightingale. Could you see to it that he actually takes a breath at some point? Sending some new files your way. _

_ E, _

_ Dorian once said I spend entirely too much time with a frown on my face. I suppose this means he’s had an influence---or, perhaps, you have. _

_ I’m glad my attempt at humor managed to make you laugh, though I think you give me too much credit. There’s no use in evading Hawke; that man is disturbingly inescapable (unless you’re Cassandra, I suppose). I’ve spoken with Solas and he’s already preparing to teach certain charms and barriers to help with sun exposure to the others---apparently he’s had his fair share of burns. I know I have. _

_ I wouldn’t dream of it---especially since I’m sending a healthy amount of those troops your way. With a healthy amount of burn salve. _

_ <strike>I think </strike> _ _ I’m beginning to think you  _ <strike> _ might have a soft spot for  _ </strike> _ may be soft on our Rylen (he’s also coming your way, assisting the troops and the salve). I’ve heard the Starkhaven accent is quite the draw. A little exposure therapy will do him good, I think, and there’s no better man to coordinate the move. _

_ Whatever you desire, indeed. I’ve taken an hour off evening drills (Krem and the Chargers fill in for mixed tactics now that Rylen’s left) to retreat to my desk and read under the distant but watchful gaze of at least six of Leliana’s people. Most of them are in the courtyard, but I believe I heard one on the roof earlier. All of my tactics books have been replaced by chapters of  _ Hard in Hightown _ . Perhaps I will sneak into your cellar, and swipe that copy of  _ Massache _ I lent you while I’m at it. Pardon my whinging---in truth, if it pleases you, it might be  _ <strike> _ the most important part of my day  _ </strike> _ more important than calibrating the trebuchets. Though I must expand my library, and quickly. Don’t tell Varric. _

_ Thank you for being safe. _

_ With any luck, we’ll be speaking in person soon---over a chessboard. You’re on. _

_ C _

_ P. S. No, but I believe around 70% of Kirkwall could. _

_ P. P. S. Can’t we at least pretend that she doesn’t read these? _

_ C, _

_ Apologies in advance, this will be a short one. _

_ Rylen personally presented me with enough salve to bathe in, so I’m feeling much better. _

_ Thank you for speaking with Solas---you’re my hero. _

_ I will personally sort out this mess I’ve made and make it up to you upon my return. _

_ We’re on our way back now (see report) with as few stops as possible. In all honesty, I’m feeling quite shaken, but the sooner we get home, the faster we can figure out how to sort this one out.  _

_ E _

_ P. S. I’ve come to prefer Fereldan accents. _

_ P. P. S. Leliana, give the man his books back!  _


	15. Chapter 15

Again feeling the twinge of ozone around him, he didn’t want to open his eyes.

He knew what was coming, bracing himself for the onslaught, clasping his hands tightly together as he tried to pray.

_ Blessed are those w _

Except a strangled cry broke out, one from a distant memory, and his blood turned to ice, for this had never happened before.

There was the distinct sound of a sword sinking into flesh, and although he was filled with dread as he recognized the ragged whine that followed, nothing could have kept him from reacting.

Replacing the sword on his back, Samson trudged through the snow toward his cage, a shock of dark hair clenched in his fist as he dragged a mortally wounded Trevelyan behind him.

“Is this your savior?” he mocked as he threw her before him, her arms helplessly trying to stanch the flow of blood from her chest as she gasped for air, and Cullen was already throwing himself against the walls of energy, unable to scream or breathe or do anything but take wave after wave of white pain as he tried to get through to her, to put himself in between her and Samson.

“That’s the thing about saviors, though---no one to save them.”

Blackened and smoking, his armor distorted and melted, Cullen tried to howl, and though no noise came out, Trevelyan turned her head, fear in her too bright eyes and blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth, and she tried to claw through the snow and crawl to him, wheezing with each breath, but Samson only smiled, reaching into the gash with both hands and ripping her apart at the ribcage with a wet crack, and as a soundless scream left all three of them, her eyes became as dull as scratched glass and there was blood and gore everywhere and he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe

\-------------

As she flipped through sheafs of sketches of ludicrous ballgowns at her desk, Trevelyan felt a headache coming on.

How, exactly, was she supposed to investigate, protect the Empress, and defend herself in a floor-length dress that weighed as much as full plate armor?

_ Add breeches and boots, _ she scribbled in the margin of one of the less offending designs. _ Knee guards, sheaths---jacket? Weapons, chest protection _

Of course, the sketches were only given to her as a courtesy, as Josephine and Leliana would be choosing the final product. Naturally.

She set down the papers, sticking an inkwell on top of them, and looked at files she had pulled for upcoming operations. Cullen had found a possible way of tracing Samson’s whereabouts, and she was more than eager to chase it down, knowing she needed every edge she could grasp. Fairbanks was still monitoring the Freedmen, Maevaris was sending information within the month, the Crows had something to say about the fake version of Varric’s book…

Making a face, she read that last one again.

_ Oh, right. I really need to be more on top of things. Even ridiculous things. _

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, looking over at the very tempting bed on the opposite side of the room.

_ Something tells me I might not be at peak productivity in this location. _

\------------------

Cullen was gripping the edge of the war table so aggressively that he heard it creak.

Jumping, he pulled his hand back, rubbing at his eyes in frustration.

_ It was completely inappropriate. He shouldn’t even be considering it. _

He took a long swig of water and tried not to think about what had woken him up.

_ She had specifically _ asked _ him to come to her if he was having trouble, and this certainly fell under those parameters. _

_ This was his problem, not hers, and he needed to deal with it himself. He would see her in the morning at bre---around noon when they had their first meeting. Maybe if she gets up early enough for breakfast. _

_ Maybe he could bring her breakfast. _

Shaking his head, he tried for the third time to read Fairbanks’s new report, but the words became muddled into puddles of blood on snow and locks of mahogany hair---

He set down the papers and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_ It wasn’t like he was getting anything done besides breaking his hand on the war table. _

As he was forcing himself to drink more water, he started at the sound of the door opening.

\-------------------

Trevelyan carefully backed the door open, arms full of reports and the occasional book, an inkwell on top and a quill delicately between her teeth.

Satisfied, she let the door slip closed slowly with her leg as not to wake anyone, shifting forward with a step and smashing face-first into something very warm and sturdy.

She jumped back just as the familiar (comforting?) smelling obstacle followed in kind, making a muffled noise of surprise around the quill in her mouth, as the pot of ink careened off of her stack, shattering and splattering everything in the area with black specks.

Including Cullen, who was looking at the broken inkwell in sheer amazement, his plainclothes absolutely ruined.

Trevelyan leaned back against the door and felt herself slide to sit on the ground, an ink-stained hand coming to cover her mouth as she shook with laughter.

“Did that...explode?” Cullen asked rather feebly as she put down her damaged papers, laying the quill on top.

“Apparently I’m not meant to get any work done tonight. Lest more people fall victim to my office supplies.”

“It’s my fault,” he said hastily, extending an arm to help her up as the other went to rub at the back of his neck. “I meant to come assist, but, well…”

“Not at all,” she sighed, still smiling as he easily pulled her up. “I should have taken two trips instead of trying to balance it all.” His hand lingered on hers, and as she realized how tense he was, her smile faded. “Cullen?” she asked, gripping his hand more tightly. “Are you all right?”

“I…” His free hand moved to her waist as he gazed down at her, eyes consumed. “It’s been difficult, tonight. More than usual. Nothing to worry abo---”

“Of course I’m worried,” she murmured, pulling him closer and wrapping her arms around his neck. Relaxing, he held her in kind, gingerly resting his chin on the top of her head.

“You’re going to get ink all over yourself,” he sighed, and she felt the words bubble up through the column of his throat and swallowed hard.

“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” she pointed out, lips moving against his skin, and she closed her eyes as he chuckled, wrapped up in the sound and movement. 

\-------------------

Cullen wasn’t sure if he was lucky or cursed.

Of course it was Trevelyan slinking through the war room door, arms piled impossibly high with missives and a quill between her full lips.

_ Very much alive. Very much unharmed. Proving he had been a fool for worrying. _

_ As lovely as ever. _

Of course he was in his frayed plainclothes, hair wild with curls and undoubtedly had the look of a full-blown lyrium addict.

He wanted to run from her almost as much as he wanted to run to her.

And then, naturally, he accidentally ran into her.

The war room was partially coated in an impressive spray of ink (surely Sera had tampered with that bottle) that would definitely cause Josephine to faint, but Trevelyan was here, she was unhurt, it had only been a nightmare---he had the steady beat of her heart against his hands as proof.

“If it’s bad, Cullen,” she began, lips at his neck, “don’t hesitate to come to me. Don’t think about it, don’t feel like you have to apologize or explain, just---please. Please come.”

And, just like that, the battle was lost.

“All right,” he murmured, holding her tighter, and he felt her smile.

“Let’s start with getting cleaned up,” she groaned, taking back one of her arms from around his neck and examining the black smudges. “I may have ruined you.”

_ More than you know. _

As they picked up the pieces of glass and tried to mop up the undried ink with blank parchment, they realized they were beginning to make the situation worse as it pooled and sank into the stone.

“I definitely don’t want any staff having to deal with this nightmare,” grumbled Trevelyan, making a thick black mark on her face as she brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. He followed the movement with his eyes, reflexively clamping his lips together as she regarded him with suspicion. “What?”

“You, erm, have a little...” he started, chuckling, and she looked at her hand and growled in playful frustration.

“All right, I know what I must do,” she sighed, reaching for the quill and dipping it in the inky mass in the bin. He watched, curious, as she scratched two words on the floor beside the largest spot:

BRIBE DORIAN

“Can we afford that?” he deadpanned.

“I expect it shall take most of whatever dowry Josephine is planning to trade me for,” she snickered, putting the quill on top of the stack of speckled missives and holding open the door for him.

“Hilarious. You were kidding, right?” He followed her down the hall. “Right?”

Once again, he found himself in her spacious quarters, completely uncertain of what might happen---the only guarantee was that he would be spending time with her, and that was all he needed.

“I know I told you in one or two of my letters to feel free to come in here and fool around,” (his ears burned red at her wording) “while I was gone, but I also know you, so I know you didn’t.” She set her burden back on the desk, trying to avoid touching anything else.

“Astute of you,” he agreed, and she grinned.

“Well, I’m going to show you around a bit more, but first things first, Commander: are you shy?”

“I...shy?” he repeated, confused.

“Perfectly fine if you are,” she maintained, looking up at him with what almost seemed like a mischievous grin on her face, and he began to grasp her meaning.

“N-no,” he stammered, clearing his throat and cursing the pink that surely lit up every visible inch of his ink-stained skin like a flare. “Not shy.”

“Good. Me either. That’ll make this less awkward,” she chuckled, and proceeded to take off her tunic, pulling it over her head and putting it in a nearby basket.

_ Oh, sweet Maker, Andraste, and her mabari. _

Pulling up her breast band a little, she peeled off her ruined leggings, then balled them up and put them in the basket, leaving her in her smalls. He focused on making sure his eyes were in the right place and his mouth was not gaping open as he removed his own tunic and trousers, following her over to the corner of the room with the enormous bathtub and merrily crackling fireplace.

“Now, Dorian and Vivienne’s wardrobes aside, this---” she patted the edge of the tub “---may be the most expensive thing at Skyhold.” That caught his full attention.

“More than the trebuchets?” he inquired, a little offended.

“More than the trebuchets,” she confirmed, turning the handle next to the faucet and opening the nearby wardrobe to reveal enough towels to satisfy a half-drowned dragon. She set one down on the rug beside the tub and handed him a few smaller ones while he investigated the flowing water.

“Where are the pipes?” he questioned, confused.

“There aren’t any,” she replied, dipping her hand in the water and turning a different valve on the inside wall of the tub. “Completely enchanted. A gift from Orzammar. The water refreshes itself every half hour.”

“I suppose that’s why I haven’t seen anyone lugging water up these stairs,” he realized, and she chuckled.

“High cost, but low maintenance. Would you?” He handed her one of the smaller towels, observing the splotches that snaked up her forearm. She dipped it in the water, then wrung it out, coming to sit beside him. The marble of the tub was cold against his back but the fire kept his bare skin pleasantly warm. She held out her hand and he instinctively took it, swallowing down his surprise when she scooted closer to him and began to gently scrub at the ink on his collarbone.

“This okay?” she verified, pausing to bring her stormy eyes up to his, and he knew he would’ve licked the ink off of her if she asked him to.

“Very,” he answered, willing his voice not to crack, and the corners of her mouth turned up even as she focused on her task. 

\--------------------

“Lavender, honeysuckle, rose...and elderflower,” Trevelyan finished reading, glancing back at Cullen, who was scrubbed even pinker than she was and had a towel wrapped around his shoulders.

“You pick,” he deferred, making a face but trying to hide it.

“Elderflower,” she decided, coming back over to the tub and examining Cullen’s head.

“Remind me again why I’m not waiting to do this in the barracks shower?”

“I’m sure Rylen wouldn’t think anything of your new dye job,” she replied innocently.

“Consider me reminded,” he sighed forlornly, gloom breaking into a crooked smile as she tapped his chin. “It’s just, my hair, it can get---”

“Curly?” she interjected, grinning as she dipped his head back in the warm water.

“Well---yes,” he conceded, narrowing his eyes. “How did you---”

“Varric. And...I have eyes, Commander,” she admitted apologetically, and he groaned between her hands. “Actually, I quite appreciate them,” she hummed, massaging the shampoo into his scalp, and his expression softened. He gazed up at her for a while, expression pensieve.

“I rather like this,” he murmured, and she laughed, rinsing his hair with the nearby pitcher.

“Having me as your handmaiden?” she joked, and he chuckled.

“I meant the soap, but that too,” he replied, toweling off his head as she sat back down beside him. He tucked a piece of her still-inky hair behind her ear (despite her scolding that he would get himself dirty once more) and looked down at her, brow gently furrowing.

“What is it?” she frowned.

“I…” he paused. “You have...your support---means everyth--the world---” He glanced up at the ceiling as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Without you---I don’t think I deserve you. In my life.”

“What?” she asked, distressed.

“That was---the wrong thing to say,” he backtracked hastily at the look on her face, somewhat panicked. “I only meant---that is…” he cleared his throat, blushing furiously. “You mean...so much to me. The last thing I would ever want is to make you unhappy.”

_ So much. _

“Cullen, do you really believe that? That you don’t deserve me?” She locked her gaze with his, unwilling to let those amber eyes flee for safety.

“Yes,” he stated easily, like it was obvious.

“Well---” she sputtered, definitely unhappy now, “well, you had better fucking stop it!”

He raised both eyebrows in surprise as she gripped him by the shoulders, fingers coasting over old scars.

“You and I---we’re just people, Cullen. There is no “deserving”---and even if there were, there would be no reason for you to be thinking like that,” she urged, face inches from his.

“Evelyn---that’s simply not true,” he argued, still matching her stare. “I have done things I’m not proud of, things I’m _ ashamed _ of; I’ve failed, I’ve failed you before and I fear I will again, and you deserve---”

“_ Cullen _ ,” Trevelyan insisted, moving to cup the sides of his jaw now, “ _ there is no deserving. _There’s just you and me. I’m here because I want to be here. I know what you think, and I want to be here. Do you want to be here?”

“Always,” he murmured.

“Then that’s that,” she finished, kissing him on his scar and standing up quickly as not to see his reaction.

  
  


“Do you---your hair?” he asked as she got another towel from the wardrobe.

“Huh?” she asked, fighting off a smile as she saw how flustered and pink he was.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?”

“You know how? I’ve got a lot.”

“I do have a sister, you know.”

\-------------------------------------------

“Apparently, it’s an actual well-known thing, this prank,” Trevelyan was explaining as Cullen carefully tended to her hair. “They call it a Denerim Debacle, but Sera said ‘Denerim Dillbuckle’, which is closer than I would’ve expected.”

“Never heard of it,” he mused, using his fingers to gently detangle.

“Really? I thought maybe in your raunchy recruit days…”

“The ones that never happened?” he teased back, flicking warm water onto her bare stomach.

“Ah! Unfair tactics! I’m at your mercy!” she laughed. “Anyway, it’s pretty simple and very Sera friendly: you’re in a large group, you sneak into their things and swap all of their smallclothes.”

“Sounds somewhat familiar to you,” he pointed out, pouring soap into his palm.

“You know, I had almost forgotten. So, it’s me, Sera, Bull and Dorian out in the Mire, absolutely miserable, and we wake up in the morning to get changed and I can’t find my smalls _ anywhere. _ Dorian somehow manages to find a pair of incredibly small long johns in his pack, the kind with the flap, but none of his smalls, so he puts them on, barely able to walk because they’re so tight…”

Cullen chuckled as he rubbed the shampoo into her hair, easily seeing it.

“We go out to the campfire and Sera’s making breakfast, wearing Dorian’s imported silk smalls as a hat…”

“So you should have had Bull’s,” Cullen deduced, making her smile.

“Very good, Commander. I ask Sera why the hell there’s nothing in my pack, and she replies with some scarring information...the Iron Bull has no use for underclothes. If I have to know, so do you.”

By now, Cullen was shaking with laughter, and he let out a groan at the intel.

“Just more knowledge about our agents. Finally, fifteen minutes later, the Iron Bull emerges from his tent, and he’s…” She gasped with laughter. “He’s got something black wrapped around half of his face, covering his missing eye…I nearly choked to death on my breakfast…”

Trying not to pull her hair as he was wracked with chuckles, he combed through it with his fingers, rinsing out the soap with the water from the pitcher.

“Dorian’s clapping me on the back hard enough to knock out my lungs, Sera’s fallen off her log cackling, and Bull just sits down, gets himself some nug. Then, very primly, Dorian announces, ‘You’ve got underwear on your fucking face.’ Everything goes silent: I can breathe again, Sera looks up…”

He squeezed the water out of her hair, looking at her expectantly.

“He sighs in this defeated way, says ‘wouldn’t be the first time,’ and winks at Dorian,” she chortled. “Later, I’m packing up, and I find this strange piece of leather and metal under my pillow---”

“His eyepatch?” Cullen guessed, handing her a towel with a snicker, and she nodded, wiping her eyes.

“One of the worst places in Thedas not to have smalls, but makes for a funny story,” she sighed happily, wrapping her hair in the towel. “Thank you for listening. And being my handmaiden.”

“It was truly my pleasure,” he responded, making her beam. “However, speaking of clothes…” He just realized he was only in his smalls and all of his were in his quarters.

“Don’t start frowning now, Commander,” she coaxed. “I already thought of that.”

Venturing to a different wardrobe, she threw open the doors dramatically, gesturing to it.

“You have a wardrobe...full of men’s clothing?” he asked, confused.

“It’s Dorian’s,” she yawned fondly. “He ran out of space, apparently, and he likes to be able to change outfits on a whim. Heaven forbid he repeat them if he stays over.”

He sorted through the wardrobe (which held nearly three times as many clothes as he owned) looking for the least flashy or textured pieces available. Somewhat satisfied (though realizing the pants were very tight), he presented himself to Trevelyan, who was back in another deep blue sleep tunic and leggings.

“I’m going to have to scold him. You managed to find something perfectly normal,” she teased, and he blushed, crossing his arms.

“It took some reconaissance,” he admitted, following her gaze as she looked out the window.

“Looks like we still have about four hours before we have to function again,” she yawned, blinking up at him. “Sleep or chess?”

She was obviously exhausted, and now was the time to take his leave.

“I believe I’ve taken advantage---”

“Of nothing,” she interjected, raising an eyebrow. “You are not my prisoner; you are free to leave whenever you wish, but you’re also free to stay, if you wish.” She began folding towels and putting them in a basket, shaking out her damp hair, and he knew she was giving him an out.

Only someone more foolish than he would take it, and he wasn't sure such a person existed in all of Thedas.

“Sleep,” he rumbled gently, coming to help her, “you need some rest.”

“Couch or bed?” she questioned, and his train of thought came to a screeching halt.

_ Surely she didn’t mean… _

“Couch,” he coughed. Like he was going to take the Herald of Andraste’s bed from her.

She brought him some pillows and a hefty blanket, then proceeded to blow out the many candles as he wrestled with his doubts once again.

_ This was a bad idea. _

_ What if he had a nightmare? _

_ He should leave, now, before it was too late. _

“Picked a spot?” she asked, startling him. He nodded, sliding on to the couch, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull when she did the same, taking one of the pillows and resting her head on it. Struggling to compose himself, he mirrored her, doing as she did, but, as always, she saw right through him.

“Is this ok? I can take the bed---” she began, concerned.

“I want to be here,” he assured her, clearing his throat. “I want you to be here. I was just...surprised.”

“I told you I get nervous sleeping alone, too,” she murmured. He couldn’t clearly remember the last time he hadn’t slept alone.

“Tonight---I had a nightmare,” he admitted, “worse than usual.” She picked up the blanket and draped it over them, tucking in her feet.

“Tell me,” murmured Trevelyan, her slate eyes grounding him.

“It was---it was Samson,” he began, and she nodded, mouth set, “...and you.”

“Me?” she repeated, brow creasing.

“Yes,” he confirmed, unable to look at her anymore. “I was...powerless to do anything. Only watch as you--you tried to come to me---” he broke off, clearing his throat. “It’s getting to where I dread going to sleep.” He felt her cool hand cup his cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone, and swallowed.

“I’m here,” she reminded him, and he was moved by the emotion in her voice. “That’s not going to happen, and if you have a nightmare, I’ll wake you up. You’re safe with me,” she finished, “and I’m safe with you.”

“Okay,” he croaked, not trusting himself to say anything else, but she seemed to understand, so he pulled the blanket closer about them and tentatively wrapped his arms around her.

“I hoped you might be a cuddler,” she murmured into his chest, and he relaxed immediately, pulling her close and burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair.

“You thought about this?” he realized, and she cleared her throat.

“Maybe,” she muttered, sounding somewhat embarrassed, but he only grinned.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the much delayed update: I try my best to do monthly updates but I also want to avoid posting stuff I'm not mostly happy with. I am so thankful for all of you that have read/are reading, your comments truly make me feel much more confident in myself. I know times are weird right now and hope you are all staying safe.


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